misc drabbles
by afastmachine
Summary: Various drabbles and short fics from tumblr. Ratings vary.
1. out on the edge

_**out on the edge (and I'm screaming my name)** _

_Three hundred years is more than enough time to lose yourself._

**PG-13**. Violent themes, potentially disturbing imagery, descent into madness

* * *

He's been here before. Tunnel vision, blinders, call it what you will. The instant his hook sinks into that crocodile's flesh, there is nothing else. There can _be_ nothing else. He's finished, he's done it. The fear in the crocodile's eyes tells him it will work. He's won.

He barely feels it when he falls; stars explode behind his eyes and then there's nothing.

It doesn't matter, though, because he did it. Three hundred years of waiting, three hundred years of doing what he had to, and he's _done_.

When he wakes up, his wrist is chained to a solid metal object that curves over and over and refuses to move when he pulls against it. The room is cramped and small, boxes strewn about haphazardly. His hook is gone, but it served it's purpose. Dimly he recalls pushing aside the Swan girl, Emma, and he judges she must be the one responsible for his current predicament. The crocodile is already dying; there would be nothing he could have done to him.

"Killian," a soft voice uges, and he snaps his head up, searching for the sound.

There's no one in the room with him, but he knows that voice. He knows it because his bones ache and his heart pounds in his chest, black ashes fluttering away.

"Milah?" He blinks and she's there. She looks exactly as she did the day he lost her, exactly as he loves her. She takes his breath away, she takes everything away. He tries to reach for her, to touch her, but his hand rattles in his chains and he curses.

She smiles softly and crouches down between his legs, her fingers coming up to his cheek, tracing some pattern only she knows.

"My love," she murmurs, and there are tears glistening in her eyes and he knows his cheeks are wet but it doesn't matter because she wipes the tracks away and cradles his face in her hands. "You did it, my love."

"For you, Milah, for us. I did it." He lurches forward, breathing hard and he desperately wishes he had two hands again, that he could run his fingers through her hair and feel the curve of her cheek, the way she would lean back against the hand on her neck. She peppers kisses on his face, small light presses against his cheeks and his nose and his forehead and his eyes and it's not enough, he's crying now, he can feel it dripping off of his chin and he knows if he opens his eyes something will happen and he _can't_. "I love you, I love you, come back, please" he repeats mindlessly, he doesn't know what he's doing except he can feel the wetness when she presses her cheek against his and curls her hand across the back of his neck. She kisses along his jaw and finds his lips, a light chaste press all she gives through his mumbled words.

Finally, it's too much, not enough, and he allows his eyes to slide open.

She's so close, so real, he can feel it. He can _see_ her.

"We can be together, please," he says and she smiles forlornly. It feels like his heart is in a vice and he wants to scream.

"No we can't," she whispers, and leans forward to kiss him. He opens to her instantly, ignores the taste of salt as he kisses her, pours everything he has felt for this eternity into it. She cradles him against her, presses them closer. Her lips are soft and just like he remembers, fire and passion and _love_, gods, he has missed her so much.

Finally, she breaks away, their foreheads pressed together, and he feels it, she's leaving again and there's nothing he can do again, he can't lose her, if he does, he will go mad.

Madder.

"I love you," he says again, like it will make her stay. "I didn't tell you then but I did, I did, oh, I still do." His chest feels like it's cracking in on itself. "I have loved you for so long, Milah." He's crying and his voice is rising but it doesn't matter because her hand on his cheek feels impermanent and fading. He is shaking apart and the only thing holding him together is the press of her fingers and the feel of her skin against his.

"Stay, please, stay, I'll do anything, I did everything for you, _please_," he whimpers, but already she is drawing away.

"You can't, Killian. I can't." A sad smile slips across her face. "I was never really here in the first place."

"No!" he roars, pulling at his chain and stretching out what's left of his left arm to her. "Please! Milah!"

She flickers, like lightning in a bad storm, and then she's gone.

"Goodbye, Hook," her voice floats to him, a quiet sound. Final.

He's shaking, crying and screaming for her, anger fused through him. He pulls on the cuff around his wrist until he feels blood sliding down his arm but he doesn't _care_ anymore because it doesn't _matter_ because she's gone and their crocodile is gone and he has _nothing_ and all he needs to do is get out of here.

There isn't enough air and he feels himself losing consciousness, black spots dancing around his vision, and he sees things, sees the demon and he sees Bae and he sees so many people, he sees bodies and bodies piled everywhere, the sharp slice of his hook through flesh.

He chokes on something and slams his head back; it hits the metal device and then he doesn't see anything.

The next time he comes back slowly, dimly. He is flat on his back, and he can't feel his arm. He blinks at his wrist, over and over, until it focuses and he can see red crusted over his arm and into his shirt. When he moves, it burns and crackles. He can't feel it, though, not when he rattles it and the metal rubs against his skin, opening new rivulets of red.

"You shouldn't do that," a voice says, and he whips around to see Swan, crouched beside him. Slowly, he raises himself up off the floor.

"Why not?"

She shrugs in response, so he continues. He pulls his fingers together and tries to slide them through the cuff, but it doesn't work. Instead, he pulls at his thumb and shoves his fingers together again, twisting.

"You're going to break your hand."

He turns to her, raises his hook out of habit before he realizes he doesn't have it anymore. "Stay away from me," he snaps, but she doesn't move, doesn't even flinch. He twists his thumb one final time and his hand slides free, covered in blood. He flexes his hand and notes that his thumb only twitches. It doesn't hurt, though.

"I'm afraid, Miss Swan, that I must take my leave of you," he says, voice hard. He doesn't know where he is or where he's going, but he doesn't care. It doesn't matter. This world, no world, nothing holds anything for him. All these years he's lived, he no longer feels alive, not anymore, yet he knows death holds nothing but more loneliness.

He feels directionless, but he can't bring himself to care. It feels like a slippery slope but he's already fallen and all that's left is to enjoy the ride.

When he rises and walks past Swan, she flickers like Milah did, but she stands and follows him out. He finds himself in a hall, and he just keeps walking. She trots to keep pace, but remains utterly silent. He walks until he finds a door, and he opens it and walks through. There are people here, and some of them look strangely at him, at his missing hand and bloody arm, covered in black leather with a look of death about him.

A woman with dark skin steps in front of him and places her hand on his chest. He wants to laugh; he wants to slash her throat and step around her body. Swan has vanished.

The woman touches him with something, presses a device against his chest and it feels like his whole body is alive, lit up with pain, and he _feels_ it before he loses everything and drops to the ground.

He's tired of waking up. He wants to close his eyes and never see sunlight again. He wants to lay in his bed and wake up next to Milah.

None of them are viable options. There's blood in his mouth and when he flexes his jaw and moves his tongue it hurts.

"I don't love you," a voice hisses from next to him. He turns his head wearily, already tired of these games. It's pitch black where he is, and he feels something tight across his chest, his arms.

"I never loved you," the voice continues. "How could I love a monster?" The voice softens then and suddenly it's oh-so-familiar.

"Milah?" he asks, soft and hesitant. He didn't expect to see her again, to hear her voice.

"You're not what I fell in love with, Killain," she says, words cracking. "You've become as bad as he is." Fingers brush his cheek before the dissolve like they were never there. "You're a monster with a hook for a hand."

"No, Milah," he says, but she talks over him.

"How could I ever love a monster," she repeats. "You will not find me in death. All you will find is your _revenge_," she hisses.

And then it's gone. All that's left is silence and the dull throb of his body.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter

He's _done_.

When they speak all he does is laugh and when they let him go he watches them choke on their own blood.

Captain Hook is no ones _pet_. He is done playing by the rules of the _living_.

(there's a shadow at the edge of his vision, red and gold and brown fluttering behind him, but every time he turns to look at it, it's gone, and he is being stalked by visions and taunted by his past and he doesn't know which is real and which isn't but he slices through them all the same)


	2. untitled kiss drabble

**PG** - inspired by the EW photos of the kiss

* * *

When she kisses him, she doesn't expect this. Actually, she's not sure what she did expect, but this, this is not it. She had meant for it to be fast and probably not this much tongue.

But he doesn't let her get away with that, and a tiny part of her crows in delight at it. He tilts her head up, his hand a comforting presence against the back of her skull. Her fingers are tight, so tight, and he's leaning towards her, tipping against her even as she leans forward, trying to keep some semblance of stability when it feels like the world is spinning under her feet.

Oh god, what's she done?

She kissed Hook; is still kissing him, in fact, fire burning hot between them. He pulls her against him like he did that day in Anton's castle, but he's not grinning, there is no awkward dance to untangle from each other, no misunderstanding.

She kissed him.

She _kissed_ him. Is kissing him.

Her knees want to drop out from under her, and she curls her fingers even tighter in his coat, his heavy leather jacket that protects him from everything…except for her, apparently.

She should stop. He certainly won't. He's still kissing her like she might vanish at any time and he'll never get to kiss her again like this(which might be true; she hasn't decided how far she's gonna run).

Finally, she stops, easing herself away from him, the warm wet press of his lips on hers, comfortable like they should always be there.

His forehead drops to hers with a shudder, and he refuses to move, to release her hair tangled around his fingers.

She would shove him away except she can't find it in herself; her eyes are still closed, and she remembers the way his eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks.

She hasn't been kissed, _kissed anyone_, like that in a long time and she feels like maybe it wasn't her wisest idea, but he'd been there and they'd _done it_, together, side-by-side.

Even now, their bodies are aligned, adrenaline still pumping through her from the win. Her heart pounds in her chest and she realizes she can feel his through the press of his clothes, can practically hear it.

He's standing right here. He's helping her, standing beside her even when she wants to shove him away.

He's standing _right here_ and she doesn't regret a thing.


	3. untitled fem hookemma

R - written for chia; fem!hook as played by Katie McGrath, Emma noticing that even with the rather large change in gender, some things still stay the same

* * *

Sighing contentedly, Emma rolled over onto her side. Killian's long hair was laid out across the pillow, and it was certainly strange to be in bed with another woman, but it _wasn't_, not really, because it was still _him_, even with all the changes.

As though she could sense Emma's thoughts (and really, it was something he'd always been disturbingly good at), the person in question turned, rolling so she was facing Emma, meeting her gaze head-on. She smirked, that same familiar smug look that Emma had seen a million times before on his face. It didn't look as out of place as it probably should have.

"You know, I find this body quite interesting…" she trailed off, leaning in to brush her nose against Emma's. Not content to stop there, she pressed further, lips ghosting together. A contented sigh escaped Emma and she let Killian kiss her, enjoyed the softness of it. Earlier had been interesting, new body and new sensations for both of them to explore, the roughness of their usual encounters blunted and shifted as they tried to figure out what exactly worked like this.

Killian's glee at discovering her own new breasts had been both predictably amusing and oddly endearing, followed quickly by intensely arousing as they'd both discovered just how _sensitive_ they were.

The memory made Emma smile into the kiss, her hand coming up to cup at Killian's cheek.

It didn't feel strange at all, the way their lips met, the same old dance they'd done a thousand times. Killian's fingers twisted in her hair the same way they always did, cupping the back of her head, bringing her closer even though there was no distance to speak of between them.

Emma could feel Killian's eyelashes fluttering as she finally ended the kiss, and when she opened her eyes all she could see was those still-striking blue ones gazing back at her.

"I think it's interesting how you still find me irresistible, even like this," she whispered, the hint of a smug grin dancing on her lips. Emma just thumbed at her cheek, choosing to ignore the teasing words. Her fingers sought out and traced the scar on the skin there of their own volition.

"How did you even get this," Emma murmured, the question finally rising to the surface. She'd always wondered, but had never thought to ask, always another distraction getting in the way.

Killian quirked an eyebrow at her, and it made Emma smile. She looked every inch the dashing pirate rogue, even here, even now, naked and soft and almost fragile looking. Emma knew better though.

"Was just a lad, really. Got into a fight." Killian leaned in again, bringing their noses together.

"Lemmie guess," Emma drawled, "was there a girl involved?"

Killian chuckled, lighter and more airy than Emma was used to, but unmistakable all the same. "Aye, what else to lads fight over?"

Emma rolled her eyes at that.

"I've been told it makes me look rather dashing," Killian continued, winking. Her voice dropped and she pressed closer. "You think it makes me look dashing, admit it."

"I think it makes you look like an idiot who managed to scar his face," Emma replied. "Though, right now, it just looks out of place. I like it better with your scruff."

Humming, Killian scooted down a little, her lips trailing over Emma's jaw and towards her neck.

"I think you just miss the way my scruff rubs against you," she murmured against Emma's skin.

"Maybe," Emma admitted, weaving her fingers through the unfamiliar dark hair that trailed behind Killian. Abruptly, she pulled away from Emma's neck and pressed against her, rolling her onto her back. Killian leaned down, catching Emma's lips in a kiss that was definitely more passionate than before, teeth nipping to gain entrance to her mouth.

"As much as I love the perks of this body," Killian said when she pulled away, hand tangling in Emma's hair, "I think I enjoy being inside you too much to keep it."

"So then we need to figure out how to turn you back."

Killian shifted over her, sliding her legs down to tangle with Emma's. "Mmmm, yes, but I think right now I'd like to further explore these perks with you."

"I think I could be convinced to try a little exploration." Emma grinned and wrapped her arms around Killian's neck, bringing her down to meet her lips again.


	4. prompt fic - Emma & Hook massage

**R** - emma gives hook a massage after he strains his shoulder. involves hook laying stomach down on the bed with emma straddling his lower back

* * *

"Oh, gods, Emma, don't sto-" He interrupted himself with a sharp gasp and a low groan that trailed off into nothingness as she continued to press her fingers into his sore muscles. When she shifted lower to a new spot on his back, he full-out whimpered and practically melted into the bed, causing a small laugh to bubble up in Emma.

"Imagine if anyone could see you now, you big scary pirate." She leaned down, allowing her hair to trail across his back as she pressed her face close to the side of his. "You're not even this bad during sex."

He growled at her, but it lacked its usual force with his face pressed into the comforter and his body so loose and pliable under her. Emma just chuckled and resumed her ministrations, drawing another extended moan out of him.

"I told you you shouldn't have picked that up, you know. If I was anything less than the nicest person ever, I'd be leaving you to deal with this on your own, you know," she retorted with a smile.

"I was being helpful, Emma," he mumbled, the words muffled against the bed, as though the very word was distasteful. "For you, I might add."

"And I'm very appreciative, I promise," she purred, lightly drawing her fingers down his sides as she shifted her hips to press against his ass.

He growled again, sharper this time, and lifted his head. "Don't tempt me, princess."

"Don't call me that," she muttered, shifting forward and pressing down again on his shoulder, eliciting a deep rumbling sound from him.

"I, ah, think, I'll - damn it, Emma," he swore when she pressed a little harder, working at the knot against his spine. "I'll call you whatever I like, you damn vixen."

"Well, then I'll probably have to punish you some way." She continued to massage his back, using a little more pressure than was probably necessary, but she was making a point.

"I'll have you know I stand up extremely well under torture, love." If he'd been able to turn his head far enough, Emma was sure he would be leering at her. "Besides, I've heard the things you say, ah, at your most vulnerable. I don't think I've ever called you a heartless bastard befo-" She pulled back and punched his arm, hard enough, probably that he'd have a bruise. "Damn it, Emma!" He shifted suddenly, rolling himself over under her as his hand fell to her hip, holding her in place over him.

"I swear, you do as much damage to me as you bloody father," he groused. Emma chuckled and shook her head.

"I like you too much for that. Sometimes you're pretty useful."

At that, he grinned, wide and wicked.

"Really?" he asked, sliding his thumb up enough to brush under the thin top of her pajamas.

"Really," she breathed, leaning down over him, bringing their bodies closer. She purposefully rocked her hips side to side, just enough to feel his fingers tighten against her skin. And then, with a final grin, she brushed her lips against his in a light kiss, and rolled off of him to her side of the bed, flicking the lamp off and plunging the room into darkness.

"Sometimes," she emphasized as she slid herself under the covers away from him. The bed shifted behind her, and she pretended to fall asleep, letting out a loud faux snore. She nearly choked on it though when his hand slipped across her side and slid under her top, brushing across her stomach before finding the curve of her breast.

Emma could feel him moving behind her, and then his lips were on her neck, trailing a line of soft kisses across her skin.

"You're amazing, you know," he whispered softly, pressing himself against her back. "I can't even feel the ache anymore. At least, not that one," he added, his lips curving into a smile as they brushed her skin. "Let me return the favor, darling."

It was nearly impossible to hold in her moan as his hand slipped back across her stomach and under the waistband of her shorts and underwear, instantly falling between her legs.

"Come on, love," he continued, peppering kisses across her jaw and cheek as she stubbornly tried to ignore what he was doing to her. He found her clit, though, and started pressing light circles against it. When his fingers slipped lower, one sliding inside of her, she couldn't keep it in anymore, and her mouth slipped open in a gasp. He took full advantage of the movement and slid forward to kiss her, sweeping into her mouth as he curled his finger inside of her, sliding it in and out as he swept his thumb across her clit.

"I hate you," she muttered when he finally pulled away and went back to her neck, pressing his face into her skin.

"No you don't." _Smug bastard_, she thought.

He picked up his pace, expertly twisting another finger into her, and it was too much. Emma could feel her stomach tightening and then she was there, coming on his fingers with a soft sound. He rode her through it, not stopping his movements until she went limp against him. Slowly, he slipped his fingers out of her and his hand went back around her waist, pulling her against him.

"No, I don't," she admitted softly, tilting her head back so she could kiss him. When she tried to deepen it, to roll back against him, he kept her where she was.

"Go to sleep, love," he murmured, brushing his lips against the nape of her neck. "I'm fine."

Emma made a grumpy sound, and he chuckled against her, the sound pressing against her back pleasantly.

"That was for you." He continued to nuzzle softly at the side of her neck until she relaxed back against him, her arm coming up to hold his.

"I love you, you dork," she whispered after a long moment, sliding her fingers between his. He hummed and tilted his head, his chin pressing against her shoulder.

"And I love you, Emma."


	5. prompt fic - Emma & Hook vibrator

**PG-13** - emma/hook + vibrator

* * *

"Darling…what _is_ this?"

Killian has to repress the urge to smirk when Emma's face suddenly goes a very interesting shade of red. He's almost positive what the bright pink tube is used for; after all, he's no fool, and there are only so many things that you keep in the same box as condoms. It seems a little small for what he assumes is the intended purpose, but there must be something she sees in it.

But hearing her try to explain it is going to be _perfect_. And it's hard to miss the way her breathing picks up, eyes fixed on the object in his hand.

"Um," she starts, and swallows hard. "It's a thing. My thing. Why do you have it?" She blinks and apparently regains some of her composure, because her eyes narrow at him. "What were you doing digging through my stuff?"

He plasters an innocent look on his face and slides closer to her where she's leaning against the sink.

"I was looking for something," he replies smoothly, and she rolls her eyes.

"In my stuff?"

"Well, you do have all the interesting things in your stuff, love." He waves the odd-looking pink cylinder at her. "Like this."

She huffs out a breath of laughter, seemingly amused with something. "I honestly did not expect to be having this conversation with you." He quirks an eyebrow at her, and she smacks him on the arm for it. "Don't be a dumbass, I'm sure you have some kind of idea what it is."

He chuckles, dropping his head for a moment to examine the object. "Maybe," he says, before lifting his head and staring into her eyes, letting his voice drop to a husky whisper. "But I'd like you to tell me anyways."

It has the desired effect; her eyes widen and her breathing picks up. Her eyes flutter and he knows he's got her exactly where he wants her. He shifts just a little closer, narrowing the distance between them. Gods, he loves this, the teasing, the tension.

Knowing that he could kiss her and have her right here, right now, and she would let him.

"It's a vibrator," she murmurs, her eyes dropping to his lips.

Well, he wasn't exactly expecting that. He lifts the device, the vibrator, again, trying to figure it out.

"Is it magic?"

Her eyes widen momentarily, and the moment is broken as she lets out a snort of laughter.

"No, you idiot. Here," she says, snatching it out of his fingers "Look, you just turn the bottom like this…" she wraps her fingers around the bottom of the vibrator and twists. It jumps to life in her hand, shaking and buzzing.

He'll never admit to the start of surprise he gives, but he doesn't miss the laughter in her eyes. He shoots her a look, narrowing his eyes, but the smile on her lips doesn't fade.

"I don't understand…" he trails off, gingerly touching it with his finger. The vibrations are…interesting. He can sort of understand the appeal now.

She shakes her head in amusement, curls bouncing over her shoulders. "It's batteries, Killian. Electricity. Same as everything else here." She rolls it over in her hand before twisting it back in the opposite direction, and it turns off, once again becoming still and unmoving in her hand.

He pouts. That's not fair. "I wanted to see how it _works_, Emma."

She laughs, then, easy and light, and gods above, it makes his heart clench with happiness. Her laughter is quite possibly one of the most amazing things he's ever heard, right behind her falling apart beneath him, the way her voice goes breathy and intense. Or the way she says his name; so many different ways, all of them making his body burn for hers. He inhales sharply, beyond hiding how she affects him.

"I think I just showed you how it works," she says, and her eyes are twinkling at him, her lips still laughing. Suddenly, he has the intense urge to kiss her, to swallow her laughter and smiles and taste the sunshine. Instead, he leans forward, his arms coming to either side of her to brace himself against the counter.

"You know very well what I meant, love," he growls at her, desperately resisting the urge to just pull her against him, _show_ her what he means.

Her teasing smile doesn't falter; in fact, it widens. The _siren_.

"Oh, I don't know, I mean, I am a little busy right now…" she turns her head to the side, motioning at the dishes she'd been putting away when he walked in.

"_Emma_," he says, trying to hide the way her name cracks into a whine half-way through. The effect is not lost on her, though, apparently, because her head whips back to him and her eyes flutter for a moment as she catches his heated gaze.

Slowly, she leans towards him, finally brushing their lips together. It feels like electricity sparking through his entire body, and he groans, opening up his mouth to slide his tongue along the seam of her lips, moaning again when she opens up to him.

But just as he starts to move his arms towards her, she breaks away, breathing hard. She ducks out of his embrace and twirls to face him where he stands, still recovering from her sudden move.

"Come find out, then, _pirate_," she says, smirking at him over a raised eyebrow, the vibrator clutched tight in her hand.

And then she turns on her heel, disappearing into their bedroom.

Really, he should be ashamed of how long it takes for him to regain enough control of his body to follow her.


	6. prompt fic - Hook & Henry

**G** - after being rescued, henry and hook have a conversation in which henry asks the pirate about neal

* * *

Killian Jones has spent a very long time feeling nothing but hatred and anger. He's become more than a little bit rusty when it comes to dealing with anything else. That's the only reason he's reacting this way, really.

Emma's son is standing next to the helm, eyeing the wheel and the carefully-etched directions next to it.

And his heart is clenching painfully, a throbbing ache. With his overgrown and mussed dark hair, the boy looks startlingly similar to his father.

And his grandmother.

It takes every bit of willpower that he possesses to climb the steps that lead to the helm where the boy is. When he comes to a stop next to the child, he turns back to look over the ship. Emma is standing with her parents, talking quietly, but she meets his gaze anyways, her eyes flickering to Henry before returning to him.

For some reason, he nods at her, and the corners of her lips turn up briefly before she returns to her mother and father.

Nothing will happen to the boy under his watch.

"You knew my dad, right?"

Henry's question forces his gaze away from his mother, and back to the kid. Killian nods, and forces his eyes out to the sea.

"When he was about your age, yes."

"You're the one who taught him how to sail your ship." He nods again, trying to keep his face impassive, trying to push away those memories, the last bit of happiness he'd had for a very long time.

"He didn't like you very much, but you liked him," the kid observes.

It's startling, really, how much he is like his mother. Too perceptive for their own damn good, the lot of them. That's one thing he certainly didn't get from his father.

"He was someone special's son," he said, flicking his eyes to the boy. "Much like you."

Henry hummed, his fingers going out to touch the wood of the wheel. It was safe, locked on course, but still Killian started a little.

"Careful, boy."

The kid's eyes came up to his, wide and unblinking. "It's okay. Dad showed me what you showed him."

It was strange to think of Baelfire as a father himself, a grown man, to reconcile the bitter young man he'd known with something Emma had loved. Someone who had _left_ Emma. Someone so foolish and full of cowardice. Just like his Crocodile.

But he couldn't let his thoughts drift there. Not now.

"What was he like?"

Henry's words jolted him out of his own miserable thoughts.

"Well, for starters, he looked just like you." He managed to put on a smile for the boy. "He was a natural sailor. Born for the sea."

Against his will, his thoughts drifted away again, to pulling the boy against the wheel, ruffling his hair. Showing him how to become one with the ship. The pride he'd felt, the pain of knowing Milah would never get to see her son take to this as well as they'd often dreamed he would.

"Then why did he leave?" Henry's face was puzzled, his eyebrows drawn together. How was it that he resembled both his parents so closely? One minute he was the spitting image of Baelfire, and the next, he was his mother's son, her expressions written all over him. Sighing, Killian turned to face Henry, leaning down a bit to focus on him.

"Because he believed a lie, a miserable story." He could see the boy opening his mouth to speak, but he cut him off. "A story I will _not_ be telling you."

The kid's face fell, but Killian refused to be affected by it. As much as he hated the Crocodile, he was not going to hurt Milah's grandson like this. He was not going to be the one complicate his relationship with his family. Besides, at his age, there was no certainty that he would even be able to appreciate the situation.

Gently, he nudges the boy out of his way, moving to release the wheel so that he can control it himself again. He doesn't _need_ to, but after all these years, it's relaxing. Soothing, even.

Surprisingly, Henry doesn't leave him when it becomes apparent the conversation is over. He just watches him, taking in the subtle shift of his stance, the way he sways with the ship. When Killian glances over, he notices that the boy is carefully mimicking him, stance so similar as he squints, trying to memorize every little action of Killian's.

It's a terrible mix of Emma and Baelfire, and he's still going to claim his utter unfamiliarity with emotions outside of rage and anger as to why his breath turns up short .

It certainly has nothing to do with the rush of belonging, of _family_ that thrums under his skin.


	7. prompt fic - Emma & Hook rings

**NC-17** - _I have a smutty fic prompt for you... remember how like during CS Kink month near the end people were talking about Killian's rings? Yeah i really really need a fic or ficlet of something about them involved in the sex action because you know the contrast of the cold metal and his palm would be fucking hot..._

* * *

Emma sighed softly, allowing him to ease her back against the soft lining of his jacket. It was a measly protection from the wood under her, but it was better than nothing, and right now, she could care less. Not when his hand was brushing over her skin, over her bare stomach and hips. The touches were barely-there, flitting from one area to the next as he seemed to memorize her body with the one hand he had.

He was rolled back on his knees, still technically fully clothed, though his shirt was untucked and the buttons were just barely holding it closed. His hook was resting on his thigh, drumming at the leather absently as he continued to touch her.

It wasn't enough. Every so often, his fingers would brush just a little lower, and she could feel the teasing cool metal of his rings. The mixture of his burning skin, hot little touches and the cool press of silver and gold, was unbearable, and she shifted restlessly, fingers curling and uncurling at her sides. When he leaned over her, his necklace fell out of his shirt, swinging between them, and she wanted to snatch at it, to reel him in the way he claimed she had done from the second they'd met.

She didn't, though.

She just wanted him to do something, to touch her, to let her touch him, to move together, to chase release.

Finally, as though he could read her mind, his fingers started to press into her skin, sloping down her thigh and between her legs.

The first touch was electric, his fingers running across her clit and entrance slowly as he dragged the moment out, shifting his hand back so the metal pressed back against her. She nearly cried out; had to bite her lip to keep from making a sound.

It was delicious, hot meeting cold and practically fusing together.

Gently circling her entrance with his fingers, he slowly rocked his hand forward, pressing into her with his middle finger. He slid in easy; she was wet enough that he could have had her right then, but he seemed to have other ideas, crooking his finger and setting a rocking motion that pressed his other fingers against her with every thrust, his palm grinding down over her clit.

Emma let her eyes slip shut, writhing silently at the feeling. Soon enough it wouldn't be enough, she'd be craving more, more, more, fingers and his cock and everything he would give her, but for now she tried to rock her hips back against his hand, reveling the press inside of her.

Without warning, another finger was pushing into her, moving alongside the other. She didn't feel it until he slid them both out and pushed back in, but there was something else, hard and cold at the very base and it hit her suddenly that he was still wearing his rings, that he was fucking her with them still on, pushing into her and not stopping. Her breathing hitched, and he noticed, grinning up at her recklessly as he pressed a third finger into her, stretching her wider.

He twisted his fingers when he removed them, and thrust them back in again, hard, pressing both rings and all three fingers in as deep as they would go. She nearly cried out, forcing it back to a whimper at the last second, and he smirked, angling his hook over her shoulder so he could lean down and kiss her, his lips searing on her own.

"Careful, love," he whispered, pressing his cheek against hers as his lips angled against her ear. "Wouldn't want to wake the downstairs neighbors, would we?"

The stark reminder of the rest of their little party sleeping peacefully at the base of the tree was motivation enough for her rock her hips up against his hand, pressing them deeper and forcing his palm flat against her clit, grinding against it.

"Then I guess you'd better hurry up and fuck me."

He pulled away from her, eyes glinting in the little light that filtered in.

"Is that a challenge?" His voice was raspy and low, the accent only making him seem more dangerous, more exciting.

"What do you think?" She reached forward, hand going between his legs to squeeze at the obvious hard press of his cock against the material. He groaned and leaned over her, his head hanging between them before he dropped it to her chest.

"_Emma_," he whined against her skin, his hips rocking against her.

Apparently her friendly reminder had worked, because he crooked his fingers and then scissored them, rubbing at that spot inside of her desperately as his rings caught at her entrance, rocking back and forth inside of her.

"Fuck," she breathed, words muffled against his hair. Quickly, she moved her hand against him, searching for some zipper, button, anything to get him out of his clothes. Finally, she caught a button, fingers stumbling over it for a second as he rocked his hand into her. With great difficulty she managed to undo his pants, and thrust her hand in, searching.

When her fingers closed around him he gasped and his hand stuttered to a stop against her. She gave him a firm squeeze, sliding her hand along his length for a moment before his hook was between them, pulling her hand away as he shifted between her legs. He reluctantly slid his fingers out of her and instead let his hand fall to his pants, shoving them down his hips enough to release his cock, hard and bobbing against his stomach.

With surprising efficiency, he hooked his hand around her hip and pulled her down, tilting her hips until they were aligned with his, rocking together as he rubbed himself against her, slickness building between them. He dug his hip into the wood next to them and grasped himself before gently nudging at her entrance, pressing in until just the tip of him was inside of her.

Emma whined, rocking her hips, trying to draw him inside of her, but he gripped her hip, firmly pressing her down. Still, he seemed to take the hint, and snapped his hips forward. A strangled cry slipped from her lips, far louder than any sound they'd made thus far, and he cast her a hard look.

"Just move," she muttered, ignoring his gaze.

He chuckled then, a low sound that rumbled in his chest. Shifting his hips, he gave a shallow thrust, rocking into her. He wrapped his fingers around her hip quite deliberately, fingers and rings still slightly damp from her, hard and soft at the same time.

And then he moved, short shallow thrusts that made her rock her hips up against him, unwilling to let him escape her for even a second. She could hear him grit his teeth, and his fingers dug into her skin, the sensation skittering across her skin as his rough palm rubbed at her skin just beneath the warming smoothness of his rings.

She didn't know why, but she could feel _everything_, the pull of him inside her, the way she rocked and slid against his jacket and it slid against the wood, the curl of his hand on her hip, rings and fingers so tight against her skin. It made everything so much better, even though she was also hyper-aware of every little sound they were making, his heavy pants and her own stuttered breaths. She thanked the heavens for whoever had constructed this shelter; the boards didn't squeak or rock with their movements, the only sounds the ones coming from them, the slap of skin against skin and their own breathing.

Lifting her legs, Emma leaned forward and wrapped her elbows under her knees, pulling them back against her. Hook groaned at the new angle, and pulled on her hip, slamming into her over and over again like he was trying to lose himself.

The slow curl of her orgasm was starting low in her belly, lapping at her like waves. His fingers were burning marks into her skin, palm clutching at her hip, pressing down hard. If she didn't have hand-shaped bruises the next day she'd be shocked.

Hooking both legs over one arm, she slipped her hand between them, brushing at her clit, feeling herself start to clench down around him. He growled, deep and guttural, and sped up his thrusts, each one rocking her back against the floor. His hand was the only thing keeping her in place, holding her steady as he cracked her into a million pieces.

"Fuck," she whined, fingers speeding up as she circled her clit, and then she was coming, hard with a cry she desperately fought to trap behind her teeth.

She was marginally successful, and then his hips were slapping against his hard and fast, chasing his own release, but she was hardly aware of it, trying to catch her breath and force the world to stop spinning. He came at some point, collapsing down on her as she released her legs and let them fall back to the floor. She grasped at his hair, the back of his neck, wherever she could find to hold onto and pulled him tight against her, crushing the air out of both of them. His fingers were still latched onto her skin, and from the way he was holding her, it would probably take a crowbar to separate them.

Sighing, she let her gaze shift to the roof above them, sliding down to the spread of her legs and the way he fit between them, bare back and the way his shoulder blades pressed out of his skin.

He shifted, slowly easing himself up. Ducking his head, he grinned and pressed a light kiss against the corner of her mouth.

"Good enough for you, love?" He smirked and raised an eyebrow, dropping his lips to her jaw.

"I don't know," she began, running her fingers through his dark hair. "I think you can probably do better…"

There was a flash of teeth and then he was kissing her, his fingers finally pulling away from her hip to curve around her cheek, pulling her against him, and in that moment, she decided she could live with this, with _him_.


	8. untitled finale drabble

**PG** - This was written right after the finale and was just an idea I had.

* * *

He should be leaving. He should be setting foot on his ship, casting off and getting out of this town that's about to fall apart around him.

Instead, he leans in.

"Why are you really doing this?"

Her eyes turn vulnerable(_more vulnerable_, he corrects himself, because as hard as she tries, that's all he's seen of her today, Emma Swan, open book).

"The kid just lost his father today. I'm not letting him lose a mother too."

Pieces start to fall into place. The reason why the parent of the child they all seemed to love so much was nowhere to be found. An absent father.

"His father? Who's Henry's father?" With his luck, it would be someone he already knew. Of course.

She looks at him like he should already know this. In a whole different light. Again. It stirs something in him that he'd rather not think about. And then she opens her mouth.

"Neal." There's pain behind that simple word, but he's too busy reeling to bother examining it.

"Baelfire?"

"Yeah," she confirms, like it's only just sunk in for her, and it is quite literally the last thing he wanted to hear.

She clutches the purse against her chest and turns to go. He feels frozen, mind flashing back to Baelfire, _Milah's son_. Milah's dead son. Emma's son's father. Gods.

"Swan."

He didn't mean to say it. His mind is still catching up with her words, but she stills and turns back to him. Her eyes are bright, and she is frozen, bracing herself for whatever remark she thinks is coming.

He sighs. He didn't think. He's committed himself to a path he can't back out of. Not now. He opens his mouth to issue an apology, anything to send her back on her way with an empty purse and a head full of hope.

"You're going to need this," he says instead, and opens his fist to reveal the bean. Her eyes widen in shock and she exhales a sigh.

"Wha-what?" She stutters as he hobbles over. Gods damn him. What is he doing? He should be walking out the door. Instead, he reaches for her hand with his hook and places the bean in her palm. She's still staring at him, the shock turning to distrustful scrutiny, a look he's all too familiar with. It doesn't lessen the pang of hurt in his chest any (he deserves that look, after all; he'd said no, that he wouldn't have betrayed her, and here he is). Her fingers are loose so he folds them over the bean, pushes her fist curled within his own against her.

"Do what you must," he murmurs. She seems to be getting over her shock, hand tensing under his. Suddenly she seems to be aware of the fact that her hand is still in his grasp, and she pulls away, takes a half-step back.

He can see it in her eyes, the emotions swirling. He's sure she has many things to say to him, and he's ready for her to express how disappointed she is, to call her father back in, tell him what he'd done.

Instead she looks down at the bean in her palm, and then back up to him. She meets his eyes.

"Thank you, Hook," she breathes, just barely above a whisper. The moment hangs in the air between them.

And then's she's gone, turning on her heel and walking out the doorway into the sunlight.

He stands in the doorway, the coldness of the weather outside reaching into the building like tentacles.

He just gave away his freedom.

It feels strangely like coming home.


	9. prompt fic - Emma & Hook pregnancy kink

**NC-17** - "pregnant-with-his-child" kink fic!

* * *

Emma wasn't sure when or how he'd gotten the measurements, but the new things he'd gotten her fit wonderfully, the top cradling her breasts perfectly before the fabric fell open over her gently rounded belly. The underwear was lacy and light, red and black to match the top. It was hard to deny, she felt _sexy_ for the first time since she'd noticed the way her body was changing, extra weight and the earlier expansion of her stomach making her feel like a wreck on legs.

As though reading her mind, Killian appeared behind her in the mirror, his hand trailing down her chest before settling on her stomach, pulling her back against his bare chest.

"I hope you feel as beautiful as you look," he murmured into her neck, gently kissing the skin there, caressing her with his lips as his hand smoothed over her stomach.

"Definitely better. Thank you. I don't know how you managed to figure out my size." She leaned back into his arms, draping her hands over his.

He hummed against her neck, planting a line of kisses down her shoulder. "If you think I haven't memorized every glorious inch of your body love, you haven't been paying enough attention." Drawing her against him closer, his left arm slipping under her breasts as his right cupped her stomach, he pressed his lips next to her ear, tongue flicking out before he spoke again, the words a husky drawl. "I could show you again if you'd like."

She shivered in his arms, and he seemed to take that as a yes, his hand drifting down her stomach until his fingers were brushing the waistband of her panties.

"Gods, you look so gorgeous, Emma," he whispered, slipping his fingers past the fabric and lower until he found what he was looking for, a light brush against that spot between her legs. "I can't tell you how amazing you look. We're going to have a _baby_, love, and you look _magnificent_."

She moaned, throwing an arm behind her head to grasp at the back of his neck when he shifted his fingers lower and started to move with purpose. Her eyes fluttered shut but he pressed a quick kiss against her neck, her eyes jolting open to meet his. They were bright blue, caught up in her, adoration and lust tangling in his gaze.

"Just look at yourself. I know you can't see it, but I want you to try." Nuzzling against her cheek he turned them a little, giving her a better look at them in the mirror as he slid his fingers against her. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and you know I've seen everything, places you can't imagine. And nothing, _nothing_ compares to the way you look now. I want to show it to you, show it all to you, make love to you until we can't breathe, every day from now until eternity if you'll only understand."

"You. Are. Perfect." He punctuated each word with a kiss, littering her skin with the press of his lips. His arm drew her against him tighter, pressing their bodies together as he slipped his hand lower and teased at her entrance with a single finger, slowly pressing in and out in time with his thumb across her clit. She cried out, shifting her hips against him, rubbing herself against his front.

"I want you to see how you look when you come, so beautiful. I wish you could see what you look like falling apart on top of me or underneath me, how amazing you are. But this will do."

She gasped, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck as he rocked his hand against her, pace picking up just like she liked, just how he knew to make her fall apart.

"Killian," she cried, bringing her free hand up to grip his brace, to cling against him for dear life as she felt herself drawing closer. Her eyes fluttered, but his voice, a sharp reminder, forced her to open them again, blearily focusing on the way they looked. The way _she_ looked.

She still didn't see it, still only saw him and her, but still, she felt like maybe he could make her see, like he could make her feel worshipped. She didn't always like the way he attentively followed her every move, but at times like these, she couldn't help but appreciate it.

The pressure built in her slowly, lazily curling around her insides until it was all she could feel, the delicious press of his fingers as he rubbed at her clit. She came with a soft sigh, nails digging into his neck, but he seemed to not care, his eyes fixed on her the whole time, echoing her own panted breaths. He held her as she came down, fingers slipping out of her underwear to press back against her stomach.

"See? You're amazing." The words were husky on her skin and she pressed her hips back against his, just to hear the sharp intake of breath as she rubbed her ass against his already prominent erection. Instinctively, his fingers shifted to her hip, pressing into her.

"Come to bed," she murmured, twisting in his arms so she could kiss him. It was lazy but passionate, his arm curling around her back until she was pressed against him. Slowly, because she didn't want to be parted from him, she delicately untangled them, grasping at his hand to lead him towards their bed. He followed, still looking at her like that, like she was all the things he'd said.

If he wasn't careful, she might actually start to believe them.

She sat back on the bed, pulling him to a stop in front of her, bringing their joined fingers together to rest on his hip.

"Emma," he began, knowing what she was doing, but she cut him off with a look, squeezing his fingers.

"What, can't _I _appreciate the father of my child?"

He groaned, eyes flickering across her, and she smirked, and then he was gasping because she was shoving down his pants and easing him into her mouth.


	10. prompt fic - Emma & Hook deck smut

**NC-17** - Idk why, but I just want some smut on the deck of the Jolly Roger x) Pretty please? *pouty face*

* * *

Her shoulders hit the deck hard, or they would have, that is, if it hadn't been for the cushion of his jacket. She giggles lightly, and he growls, coming down to nip at her lips.

"What's so funny, princess?"

She laughs again, but it quickly turns into a desperate groan, her hands scrabbling at his back as he lowers himself between her legs, pressing them together firmly.

"Just, ah, just the idea of you laying your jacket out for me so you can fuck me on the deck of your ship," she says, barely, because he's attacking her neck and tugging her pants down her knees.

"Well," he replies, raising his head just enough to leer at her as he finally works the last of her clothing off her ankles, "I _am_ a gentleman pirate."

"Mmm, maybe so." She pulls his head back to hers, pressing against him until his head is against her neck and her thighs are brushing his hips. "But I think I'd like just the pirate right now," she whispers hotly, slowly undulating her hips against his.

He groans and drops his head against her skin, grinding down against her. All that separates them now is his pants, which Emma knows must be _painfully_ tight. Slipping one hand down his back, she doesn't stop until she's sliding it under the waistband of his pants and gripping his ass, pulling him further against her, rocking her hips like he was already inside of her.

"Emma," he warns heatedly, his voice a growl, but she just giggles and keeps on going. He's been teasing her all day, intentional or not (definitely intentional), with those looks over the top of the wheel, or the barely-there brushes against her waist or ass, the way his voice kept sinking to a quiet rasp while asking her to do the most innocent of tasks, and now she's desperate, just like he wanted.

Its broad daylight, they're still in the harbor, and she wants him to take her right here, right now, on the deck of his beloved ship.

She slides her hand around to pull at his pants, dipping inside to find his cock, hard and straining in her hand. With the other she yanks furiously at the button and zipper until his pants are open and she can shove them down his hips. He's busy attacking her neck with kisses, punctuated by the occasional sharp nip that has her squeezing him tighter in her hand.

Still firmly holding him in her hand, she rocks her hips up, teasing her wetness across the head of his cock, enough to make him gasp into her skin and pull away from her, eyes dark with lust.

"Brace yourself," is all the warning she gets before he's lining himself up and thrusting into her, long and slow until he bottoms out, deep inside of her. She lets out a gasping whimper and he smirks down at her, easing forward so he can kiss her. She flutters around him, knows how wet she must feel, how tight, because he feels like he's filling up every corner of her, sucking the air out and replacing it with _him_.

When he kisses her, she wraps her arms around his neck and reels him in, holding him as close as she can as he starts rocking out of her. He eases back in slowly, dragging out the friction, and she could cry from the feel of it.

She makes a desperate sound far in the back of her throat, and he chases it down, kissing her until she doesn't have the breath anymore to make any sound. He drags against that spot inside of her with every thrust, every movement sparking under her skin and setting her on fire. When he finally pulls away from her lips to nuzzle at her jaw, she whines his name desperately, the word catching in her throat when he drives into her hard.

"Everything I need, right here," he mutters into her shoulder, his hips finally picking up the pace, truly fucking her, driving them both into the hard deck. "My ship," he says, punctuating it with a hard thrust, "my sea," he adds, "and _you_." Emma's practically keening now, the delicious sensations enough to drive her mad.

He lifts his head again and gazes down at her, takes in the way she's tugged her bottom lip into her mouth, trying to bite down on the noises threatening to escape her.

"Sound carries over water, love," he murmurs, and then sinks into her again, a particularly loud grunt escaping his lips.

She loses track of time, of the way his hand plays over her skin, pinching and tugging at her nipples, teasing across her hips and stomach before dipping between her legs to the place they're jointed together. It rises over her like a tidal wave, and she lets it come, lets it all come down around them. She knows that when she comes, it's with a strangled cry and a smug grin on his face.

He curls up against her after, both of them still naked but helplessly satisfied, and she smiles into his skin, enjoying the contented feeling that sweeps through her bones.


	11. prompt fic - Emma & Hook phantom pains

**PG** - GRACE WRITE A DRABBLE ABOUT DUCK BOATS OR ALSO PHANTOM PAIN IN HOOK'S HAND BECAUSE MY LEG HURTS AND NO PERCOCET AND ALSO YOU'VE RUINED MY LIFE SO

* * *

He rolls over, burying his face in the pillow. It does nothing to ease the pain, and he knows it's irrational, but it persists. Behind him, Emma sleeps on, oblivious(thankfully) to his suffering.

It's been a long time since he had to deal with this, not since right after he'd lost it and his nights and days were haunted in equal measures by pain and anger. Gripping at the scarred stump that is his left hand, he rubs at the skin, trying to force his body to accept that there is nothing there; his hand can't _possibly_ feel like it's cramping and aching because he has no hand to feel with.

He groans into the pillow, shifting restlessly. The pain refuses to go away, refuses to leave him alone. It feels like he's losing it all over again. He knows in his mind that he can't even feel his wrist anymore, the nerves burned off from the cauterization of the wound, but still it persists, the burning searing pain travelling from his fingers(nonexistent), to his palm(also nonexistent), and back.

Ever since the Crocodile had taken his hand, he'd had an incredibly high pain tolerance. Nothing really can compare to losing a limb, he's found. But this is that pain all over again, and it sears through his bones, shaking his core.

Gods, if he hadn't already lost it, he'd want to chop it off again just to stop the pain. He knows he's breathing heavy, sweating wildly, grunts and groans escaping him, but he can't really focus on anything besides the _pain_.

Without warning, another hand comes across his chest, searching for his own and clinging to it tightly. He nearly reacts without thinking, already rolling until he realizes there's only one person it could be.

Emma's eyes meet him the instant he turns his head, still drowsy and half-awake, but soft and gentle.

It burns that she _pities_ him.

"Hey, you okay?" Her voice is soft, sleep-tinged, and her fingers wrap around his(the fingers he still has, the ones not currently burning in a fire).

He wants to say yes, to shrug off her hand and roll over her, send her back to sleep so he can suffer in peace, but he doesn't. She's been effecting him a lot like that lately.

Instead, he averts his gaze and twists her fingers under his, dragging her arm across his chest.

"Not particularly, love. But I will be fine. It will be gone soon enough."

Even with the reassurance, he knows she won't leave it. Not Emma. She curls against his shoulder, laying her head over his chest.

"Do you want to tell me what it is?"

He grits his teeth, maybe because of the pain, or maybe because he doesn't really want to talk about it, but she asked, and he's hopeless to say no.

"Just my bloody hand. Damn phantom pains," he says, finally, waving his useless stump over their joined hands.

"Oh," is all she replies with, the word small and soft on her lips.

Nothing ever seems small or soft about Emma, but like this, in the dead of night, between the two of them, sometimes she is. Sometimes, even, she's vulnerable. Open.

Gods above, he loves her. Desperately, singing in his veins just as well as the pain does.

Another phantom pain screams through his wrist, making his whole body shudder, his fingers clamping down on hers instinctively. He knows he's squeezing too hard, she must be hurting, but she doesn't pull her hand away from his, just squeezes back almost as hard.

He doesn't know how much times passes like that, her clinging to his side as he suffers wretchedly, but not once does she fall back asleep, not once does she leave him alone. Every time he feels a spike of pain, the burning, searing, aching pain, she clutches him tighter and kisses his cheek, his neck, whatever she can reach to distract him.

It doesn't exactly work, but he thinks she knows that. She keeps doing it anyway.

When the sun finally rises, they've managed to get some sleep, fitful as it may have been. Her fingers are still tight around his, and her breath is coming across his neck, easy and warm.

The pain is finally gone, for now, but she isn't. If he looks at her a little adoringly, well, it's just the two of them in the sunlight this morning.


	12. prompt fic - Emma & Hook sea feels

**G** - Emma and Killian bond over their love of the sea.

* * *

Emma knew this was a bad idea. If anyone found her, they'd make all sorts of assumptions about why she was sitting out here on the docks, her feet hanging over the water even though it was only half-way to spring and still freezing out.

They would think about the pirate whose ship was out at the docks, how he he was obviously not the father of her child, currently enchanting the entire town with his promises of being the best father to his son, how much he loves Emma.

The truth is, she's not out here for either of them; she's here for herself.

She's always loved the sea. Back when she'd spent so much time alone in Tallahassee, there had been whole days she'd spend on the beach, watching the waves roll in and out, sandcastles washing away as the tide came in. Even in Boston, she'd find excuses to spend hours by the river, even though it was nothing like the ocean.

This is really the first chance she's had since they got back to just _be_. There had been no respite in coming home, not when things just started falling apart. Between it all, there had been no time for thought, everyone demanding different things from the savior.

But now it's just her and the open sun is bright, bright enough coming off the water to badly blind her, but she didn't mind, just squints and from liking at one spot too long. She takes a deep breath and lets it out, relaxing her shoulders.

For one deliciously long moment, all she hears is the sound of the water pressing into the cement of the docks. All she feels is the sun, warming her skin pleasantly.

And then she hears it, the sound of boots hitting the wood of the dock. She can feel it under her, the planks shaking with each footstep.

It isn't until the person draws closer that she realizes who it is, the creak of leather all too familiar.

He comes to a stop behind her, close enough that she can feel him, feel the air warping to accommodate him.

"What do you want?" It comes out a little snappy, but Emma had been enjoying her peace. Now that he's here, she's certain she won't be getting anymore.

"Nothing at all, love. I just saw you out here and was wondering _why_." His voice is soft as he crouches next to her. He doesn't move to sit next to her, though, which she appreciates. She knows he's waiting for her to tell him to leave or ask him to stay. As he always is.

Sighing, she rubs at her forehead. He's here now, and regardless, she won't be having her quiet anymore. He might as well stay.

She shrugs lightly and motions next to her, an invitation he eagerly takes. "I like the water."

"You'd make a fantastic sailor. Aside from the whole jumping into mermaid infested waters part." When she steals a glance at him, he's grinning, but not looking at her, his gaze turned out across the harbor.

"You were all crazy. I did what I had to." She shrugs again. It wasn't a big deal, really. And it already felt so long ago. "I've always liked being near the water. When I was little, there was a foster family that lived near the beach. They didn't care what happened to us or where we went, so long as we were there when the social worker came. Spent a lot of time at the beach. It was peaceful."

Another quick glance at him is a mistake, because he's turned back to her, _fixed_ on her. Just like he always is.

The time is coming when she'll have to deal with that, with the constant presence and the _until I met you_. He won't pressure her, of course, he never has, never would.

She'll still have to deal with it, though. She won't always be able to pretend she doesn't see the way he holds himself back, how he tries to touch her only when he knows she'll allow it.

"After our father left," he says, casually, as though it isn't his past, and god, Emma knows how that feels, "there wasn't much for me besides Liam and the navy. The sea's been in me longer than I care to remember."

Instead of dwelling on the revelation(family, pain, loss, Emma knows too well), she tackles the one safe part.

"That's right, I always forget, old man, you've been around for a while." A grin cracks across his face at her smirk, and he waves his hook between them in a gesture that might have been threatening if he wasn't completely harmless.

"That'll be Captain Old Man to you, darling."

It feels good to laugh, even if it's more of a giggle, a completely embarrassing sound escaping her that makes no sense given the circumstances. But god, it feels good.

She doesn't really remember the last time she laughed, truly laughed, not something desperate and tinged with grateful disbelief. Before Neverland, surely.

"There's just something about it," he murmurs after a long moment of silence, breaking her out of her thoughts. Not that she minds; it was starting to get depressing trying to pinpoint the moment. His eyes are cast out to the water, blue meeting blue, and the look on his face. Well. It's not unfamiliar to Emma. She sees it enough when he's looking at her.

Following his gaze, she nods even though she knows he won't see it. "It's beautiful. Even when it's ugly and dirty and muddy."

"Aye, that it is," he replies softly.

She doesn't have to look at him to know he isn't watching the water anymore.


	13. prompt fic - Emma & Hook regina

**PG** - Could you write something like , emma after the kiss instead of keep her way to the camp , she stops in the middle of the way and turn to killian , and he goes and kiss her again and then super sarcastic/ironic Regina sees them and they need to explain the situation

* * *

"Well, if this isn't _utterly_ surprising," is the first thing out of Regina's mouth, and Emma springs away from him as though he's fire and she just now realized it. The movement shifts their balance, however, and they both start to fall, hands flailing out and just barely staying upright when her hand finally lands on his forearm. Hook seems much more reluctant to leave Emma, his fingers grazing her arm when she releases him and steps towards Regina.

"Regina," Emma says, and then pauses, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"Emma," she replies, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah. This is. Nothing." Emma crosses her arms and then uncrosses them nervously, and for fuck's sake, she shouldn't be nervous, this is Regina, and she's a grown-ass woman. Regina seems to agree, rolling her eyes.

"I'm not your _mother_," she says disdainfully. "I don't care _where_ you put your mouth, or _what_ you catch from it."

"Hey!" Hook protests, but both women ignore him, too focused on their own stare-off.

"I'm not going to _catch_ anything, Regina. Mind your own business."

"Oh, I _was_. Until I stumbled into you groping teenagers, I was perfectly fine minding my own business."

"Emma, love-" Hook started, but Emma raised a hand to him, firmly cutting him off, not even bothering to glance back at him.

"We were _not_ groping each other! It was just a _kiss_. You act like you've never kissed anyone!"

"Oh, trust me darling, I've done much more than kissing. I just have better taste than you, that's all."

Emma gasped. "What is _wrong_ with you!? None of this has anything to do with finding Henry. Just mind your own damn business and go back to camp."

"And _how_, pray tell, does sticking your tongue down the good captain's throat help us find _my_ son?"

"For the last time, Regina-"

"What the _hell_ is going on here!?"

All three of them jumped, though Emma knew Regina would swear it had been an elegantly graceful turn. Charming was standing behind him, hand firm on his sword, sweeping his gaze across the lot of them until he finally landed on Hook.

"Whose tongue is going _where_?"

Regina smirks at the three of them and makes herself scarce.

And then it's just the three of them and Emma is starting to realize she _really_ didn't miss having an overprotective dad.


	14. the valley of your heart

_**the valley of your heart**_

_emma considers hook (_set between the events of 3x05 and 3x06)

**PG**. drabble-length, possibly ooc

* * *

She's purposefully lying very still, breathing as even as possible, trying to imitate sleep because she knows he's still sitting there, back against the stone, facing the flickering remains of the fire.

Facing him now, it would be suicide. She understands, now, the way he isn't pushing her, is accepting whatever she gives, even if it's a desperate adrenaline-fueled kiss that meant so much more than it was supposed to. And, worst of all, she recognizes it. Knows the half-terrified skirting. Remembers herself a year ago doing the same thing. Henry tore her apart and put her back together again, a new woman.

Hook could do the same.

Or he could leave those torn apart pieces where they fell, scraps left for the wind.

(The scary part is that when he looks at her she sees nothing but genuine affection, the desire to help, to be there no matter what the cost, and it's that day in the castle all over again, her lie detector telling her one thing while her heart tells her another.)

"You don't have to pretend to sleep, love," his voice breaks her thoughts, rumbling quietly from the other side of the campfire. "I'm not going to say anything if you don't want to talk about it."

His words are meant to be soothing, but they only highlight all the reasons she's got her back to him, head tucked away in slumber. She can't reply, and the night falls silent again.

She needs to shove all this down and focus on Henry, on her son and finding him, saving him. That's all she needs to think about. If she needs to worry about Hook…he'll be there when they're finished.

If he does still care, that is.

Maybe that's what scares her; that he might be there when this is all over. That he was telling the truth all along. She trusts him to find Henry, she trusts him to help them, to not throw them all to the wolves, and he's done an amazing job thus far.

But she doesn't, can't trust him with herself. The only person she can trust is her.

Without remembering that she's supposed to be asleep, she shifts her shoulders and sighs, burying her face in the small pillow under her head.

Sleep refuses to come, no matter how hard she closes her eyes and forces herself to think of nothing. The voices are long-gone, and the fire is nothing but a pile of smoking embers. Her parents are fast asleep in each other's arms, just as they are every night.

A small part of her keens with the knowledge that she too could be tucked away safe in someone's arms if she really wanted. If she took the risk.

But she can't. He – he's dangerous. There's no proof, just his word and his deeds, but she knows as well as anyone they can be faked.

Hook would switch sides in an instant before; what makes her think he wouldn't do the same again? He's soft words now, gentle understanding, but what makes her think that isn't as much of a lie as _I'm just a blacksmith_?

Nothing. Nothing.

She just needs something. Something more. Something she has no right to ask for, not from him, not from anyone.

Henry. She needs to focus on Henry.

One day she'll find out the truth from Hook; one day she'll know if he's sincere or if he's just determined to play games with her. She can trust that he will help them find Henry.

But she can't trust him with anything more. Gold was right. Leaps of faith aren't her thing.

Eventually, she closes her eyes and forces herself to think of sleep until it slowly comes to her and she doesn't have to think about anything.


	15. untitled 3x10 spoiler drabble

**PG** - inspired by certain filming pictures from 11/7

* * *

She'd said it was just a drink, whatever that means; they've shared drinks before, on his ship, in Neverland, over and over again.

They've shared a lot more, he recalls, the press of her lips, the way her skin had felt and how when he'd pulled she'd followed. That kiss haunts him, though he doesn't always mind. Now that she's home and she has her son, she's different.

Lighter.

But now he watches her carefully as she exits the small vehicle, the way the dress she's wearing clings to her thighs, the leggings she wears underneath doing nothing to conceal her curves.

It was just a drink, but his head is buzzing and he can't think completely straight. It was a drink with _Emma_, the same Emma who had told him _not now_ and _just wait_.

He does his best to lean casually against the vehicle, though he's not sure how well he succeeds.

She rises and shuts the door behind her, rubbing her hands together in the chilly night air.

"That was nice, Hook."

Her voice is genuine and sincere and light and she's smiling slightly, a content curve to her lips and he desperately wishes he could kiss her. But he knows if he did he wouldn't want to stop, would never want to stop.

His ship is docked just down the pier, so close, but he doesn't want to leave her, doesn't want to return to the cold empty world he lives in. Their time in Neverland had been difficult, but he misses being next to her at every turn, day or night.

"Aye," he replies, because what else can he say? She already knows everything he could say to her. All the words he would use have already been spoken and he doesn't regret it but he does perhaps wish there was some way to draw her closer.

"We should do it again sometime," she says, and it's almost hesitant. He flickers his eyes back up to hers, sees the spark in them and it catches in his chest.

"Yeah," he breathes, because what else can he say when Emma Swan is looking at him like that?

She smirks slightly and steps towards him, bodies almost brushing and he feels like he might be falling off the edge of the earth because the look in her eyes, he recognizes the intent there. He's trapped between her and her vehicle and he can't remember the last time he felt this good.

"Emma," he whispers, and then her lips are soft and pressing against his. It's simple and quick and more of a peck than a true kiss, but he savors it, tips his head to follow hers as she pulls away.

He wants to say her name again, but she smiles and moves to open her car door. He gets there first, quickly pulling the latch open and sliding around her to open the door the rest of the way.

It was a goodbye kiss, he knows. But it feels like more. Like a promise, like a spark.

Instead of stepping into the small seat, she turns back to him, lips tipped upwards as she appraises him.

"Goodnight, Hook," she says softly, and he blinks, nods quickly.

"Goodnight, Emma."

There is a tiny hint of her teeth in the smile, gone in an instant because she's sinking into her bright contraption and slipping away, pulling the door out of his fingers and shut.

He steps away as she starts the engine, but it's all rote.

Their eyes meet through the glass and she smiles one last time, raising her fingers from the steering wheel, and then she's gone, pulling away from the docks and leaving him standing there.

He doesn't feel alone, though.

For the first time in a long time, he doesn't feel alone at all.


	16. prompt fic - Emma & Hook broken wrist

_**long as you got me (you won't need nobody)**_

**NC-17** - Killian with a broken leg/arm/ankle/whatever and the other is taking care of him :333

* * *

"For the last time. Sit. Still. Or so help me god, you're gonna find out how hard life is with no hands and no loving girlfriend to take care of you."

Killian growled at her words, but stiffened, allowing her to finish scrubbing her fingers through his hair. He did have to admit that it felt good, her fingernails scraping at his scalp as she massaged the shampoo in. A small moan slipped out of him at the sensations, and she chuckled.

"Sometimes I think you broke your wrist on purpose," she said, dipping down to rinse her fingers off in the tub. "Just so you could have me at home with you for a whole week, waiting on you hand and foot."

He slipped further into the water, careful to keep his right arm and the cast covering it outside of the tub. "As much as I love you being around like this, all day _and_ all night, I would much rather prefer the use of my hand. After all," he smirked, carefully running his tongue over his lips as he tilted his head back to look at her, "what's the use of having you but not being able to _touch_ you?"

Rolling her eyes, Emma pushed his shoulders down further until the water was sloshing against his neck.

"Tip your head back so I can rinse your hair out, Casanova."

He obliged, tipping his head further back until his face was the only part of him above the water. She returned to his hair, scrubbing it gently to remove the shampoo, and he let his eyes drift shut. If you'd told him a year ago that Emma Swan would be washing his hair because he'd broken his wrist and she loved him enough to take care of him, he would have laughed in your face. And possibly questioned your sanity.

Emma was remarkable, always had been, but this was…well, this was new and entirely unfamiliar. He knew how to be with a woman, knew how to keep them happy and coming back for more. Or in his case, waiting for months at a time just for another go.

But this was different. This was something he hadn't had in a very long time.

They had a partnership. Something more than just the amazing sex and waking up every day to know the woman he _loved_ was beside him.

"There," she murmured, breaking into his thoughts. "All done." Her fingers left his scalp and he had to bite back a disappointed sound. She _knew_ how much he loved that and she was doing it on purpose, getting him all soft and pliable for her dastardly plans.

Well, maybe that was what _he_ thought she was doing.

"Out of the tub, c'mon," she added, standing and reaching down for his left arm to steady him. The water was getting lukewarm anyways, so he decided to comply without complaint. Besides, there was no way she'd consider joining him, not with his delicate state.

Gods, he loathed being injured like this.

Slowly she maneuvered him out of the tub and back onto the rug. One hand was firmly wrapped around his waist while the other reached for a towel, snagging it off of the rack.

She started with his shoulders, draping the towel around him and dragging it down across his skin.

He had to admit, it felt good. She felt good, every time she brushed against him, and all he could think about was the hair curling next to her neck and how badly he wanted to just brush it away, replace it with his lips.

She started to make her way down his body and he really couldn't help it, not looking down at the crown of her head, her hands pressing the towel against his calves and then across to the other foot. Really, he'd been trying so hard all evening to not let it show how she was effecting him, but he was losing the battle now.

"Seriously? _Seriously_, Killian?" Her gaze flicked from his face down across his chest and between his legs, where he was half-hard and well on his way to more.

He grinned, entirely unashamed of his body's reaction as she finished drying off his legs.

"What? I can't help the way I feel about you, Emma." He shrugged his shoulders innocently and hooked his brace into her elbow, gently tugging her towards him so he could brush his nose against hers. "You're gorgeous and taking care of me; is it so hard to believe that _means_ something to me?"

She shook her head, dislodging more strands of hair from her messy ponytail. "I'm in sweats and a tank top and I'm a mess. I do _not_ look gorgeous right now. Besides," she added, raising her head to meet his eyes with a shrug, "you'd take care of me if something happened to me."

"Of course I would," he replied, the words barely out of her mouth. "I'd take _fantastic _care of you," he murmured, slipping his good arm around her waist to draw her closer and press them together.

She laughed lightly and tipped her forehead forward, pressing her face into the point where his neck met his shoulder.

"Are you trying to suggest something?" Her voice was soft, breath brushing over his skin as her hand found its way to his hip.

"Only that I love you."

The words hung in the air, not uncomfortable, but there's enough rarity in the statement to make it something special. He knows they don't say it often; he more frequently than her, but that's the way things are. Emma is still learning what it's like to be loved so fiercely by so many.

She tilted her head up, meeting his eyes.

"I love you too," she whispered before pressing their lips together. It was a quiet kiss, and he desperately wished for the use of his hand to pull her against him as she retreated. Her other hand fell to his waist and she eased him backwards until he was up against the counter, thumbs pressed into the creases of his hips.

"Emma," he began, breath coming shorter than usual because she was nuzzling at his jaw now and he had an idea of what she was planning.

"Shhh," she murmured, silencing him with a kiss. Her lips pressed against his jaw and then her tongue was flicking out against his pulse point. Suddenly he was grateful for the marble at his back and her hands firm against his hips, because his knees felt like they were going to buckle if she didn't stop.

"_Emma_," he said again, this time the word tripping into a whine as she nipped at the skin, his heart racing against in his chest now. She merely made an amused sound and slid further down his body, pressing hot kisses against his chest and then his stomach, nipping lightly at his hip.

Her fingers dug into his hips, forcing him still, and he squeezed his eyes shut because he knew what was coming but _gods_ her mouth was on him then, hot and wet and her _tongue_. She kissed the underside of his cock, teasing him gently with her tongue as she moved further up it, sucking the tip into her mouth. His knees shook and he eased himself back against the counter, resting his elbows on it for support. Not for the first time he was grateful that the blasted cast didn't cover that far up his arm.

He wanted to curl his fingers around the back of her skull, ease himself into her mouth, but he _couldn't_, and that was quite possibly the worst thing.

Thankfully, the woman on her knees for him was amazing and perfect and knew exactly what he liked, eyes flickering up to his before she lowered her head, sucking until he was hitting the back of her throat and his knees nearly buckled again. Slowly, she bobbed her head up and down, sucking lightly and flicking her tongue against him with every move.

Her lips curved up around him and he had no idea what she was planning but she looked up at him again and winked and he was _lost_, rocking his hips into her as much as he possibly could with her hands still firmly braced against him. She tightened her grip, forcing him almost painfully against the counter in an attempt to still his movements. Without warning, she pulled off of him, taking a deep breath, and then sinking back down, going further and further until he could feel her throat opening and her face was pressed against his stomach as she swallowed around him.

"Fuck, Emma," he hissed, desperately holding himself back from moving as she slid back just enough to take a breath before returning, her tongue playing across the bottom of his cock as her throat teased the head and he couldn't _breathe_ anymore, much less think.

He wanted to live in this moment forever, her eyes sparkling up at him, tears threatening the edges even as he recognized the unmistakable affection there, the way her fingers curled around his skin, her mouth burning hot against his cock.

_I love you_, he thought, desperately, and then without warning he was there, so close and shaking apart. He whined her name in warning, but she was already moving, pulling back until just the head of his cock was past her lips as she shifted her hand to grasp him, moving in quick efficient movements. His voice echoed in the room, grunts and groans as he started to come, refusing to let his eyes close as he watched her eyelashes flutter, sucking him down and not stopping.

She moaned softly, and that was the end of him, his knees finally giving out as he tipped forward. But she was there, always there, wrapping her arms around his chest even as she licked the last of his come off her lips. His arms wrapped around her waist as she cradled him against her chest, their knees brushing up together.

"You okay?" she asked softly, her voice slightly hoarse and rough as she smoothed her fingers through his still-damp hair.

"Give me a moment love," he chuckled against her chest, nosing at her collarbone. She laughed at that, the sound bouncing off the walls and warming him up from the inside.

"We've got nothing but time," she murmured softly, and he could feel the smile in her words.

"Aye," he agreed, because for the first time, it was true. They had each other, and all the time in the world for it. "That we do. That we do."

She pressed a kiss against his shoulder and curled her arms around him tighter, careful to not jostle his wrist behind her back. He closed his eyes and breathed her in, that smell so unique to her, the scent of their soap and _her_ mingling.

Eventually they'd have to get off the floor, but for now, he was content to let her hold him, to be touching like this.

To be _home_.


	17. prompt fic - Emma & Hook sugar & spice

**_sugar and spice_**

_Hook tries Emma's favorite drink _(based on this prompt from a nonnie)

**PG**. Fluff. Pure sugary fluff. Killian/Ruby brotp.

* * *

"Would you look at that."

The voice coming from the other side of the menu is teasing, friendly, and so Killian lowers it marginally, enough for him to catch sight of the dark-haired woman standing on the other side of the counter.

"Ah, so you finally decided to grace me with your presence, my dear." Ruby rolls her eyes at that, and he grins. He likes her. She's _saucy_. And, as much as it pains Emma, he has a lot more leeway with Ruby when it comes to their teasing. With Swan he's always distracted by the fact that she's gorgeous and _his_, and, well, things quickly spiral.

"Yes, I held out as long as I could, but alas, I just couldn't resist the pull of your charming face," she replies, her words dripping with sarcasm. Sarcasm that he chose to ignore, plastering a pleased grin on his face.

"So you finally admit that I'm charming, then?"

She snorted and pushed his menu down flat on the table. "What do you want, Hook?"

"Something to eat, preferably." He raised an eyebrow at her. "This is a diner, after all, correct?" Ruby rolled her eyes at him, her fingernails tapping on the formica counter top.

"Careful pirate. One day your sass is gonna leave with you a nasty little wolf bite."

He chuckled, leaning his elbows on the counter. "I'm shaking in my boots, honestly." Before she has the chance to continue, he added, "What does Emma usually get?"

Ruby raised one perfect eyebrow at him. "To eat, or to drink?"

"Either. Both." He turns his attention back to the menu, but her small giggle snaps his attention back up to her. "What?"

"You've got it _so bad_, you know that, right?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

That only made her laugh louder. "Sure you don't, buddy. You absolutely aren't trying to impress her or _anything_."

"I'm a _pirate_, I don't need to impress _anyone_; I'm naturally impressive." She snorted at him.

"Sure. Whatever. One cup of hot chocolate with cinnamon coming right up," she said, the words drifting over her shoulder as she turned away from him and disappeared into the kitchen.

He turned his attention back to the menu; he hadn't been lying. He _was_ very impressive. He didn't need to impress Emma.

_But you want to_.

He groaned, leaning his head forward against his elbow. They'd been together for a couple of months now, and so far, things had been going _amazing_. He'd only been punched by Charming twice. Which, considering what the man had accidentally walked in on after just their second week together, was a miracle. And aside from that, it was safe to say that he had something with Emma that he had never expected to have again; someone who _cared_. He didn't deserve it, didn't deserve _her_, of course, but for some reason, he had her. And he was never planning on letting her go.

The dull thump of a cup being set down next to his head brought him out of his hazy happy thoughts and back to reality, where Ruby was watching him with a knowing grin.

"Here you go, Captain Daydream," she said, sliding the cup towards him. "Emma's favorite. Enjoy." He ignored her dig, and she wandered off.

Gingerly, he took the cup, smelling the contents. He had had this drink before, a long time ago, though not like this. It smelled exotic and warm. Like Emma. He took a sip, wrinkling his nose at the fluffy cream that caught on his nose and upper lip.

It actually tasted…good. It felt oddly _familiar_, something he couldn't place. There were so many memories filling his head that sometimes the details were lost in the shuffle. It just felt _right_, and more than just because it reminded him of Emma.

The nagging edges of memory are shoved to the side as he takes another sip, enjoying the taste, the hint of spice from the cinamon.

When the bell above the door rings, he glances up, a grin breaking across his face when he sees who it is. Usually Emma is happy to see him, but he's not prepared for the laughter that bubbles up the instant she sets eyes on him, her back bowing forward as she bent over, clutching at her stomach she was laughing so hard.

He frowns, trying to figure out what's so amusing, even as she manages to pull herself together enough to head towards him, still laughing.

"What?" His voice is more than a little indignant, despite his best attempts to school it to neutrality. She just giggles again and reaches out her index finger swiping it across his nose and coming away with the fluffy cream on the tip.

Oh.

He grimaces, imaging the way he must've looked. No wonder she had practically fallen over laughing.

"So what are you doing with whipped cream on you?" Her eyes twinkle and she adds, "I wouldn't mind, except we're in public, so it's a little weird."

It takes a moment for even _his_ brain to catch up to her suggestion, and when he does, he grins lecherously, his arm hooking around her waist to bring next to him.

"Was that _flirting_, darling?"

She mutters noncommittally, her fingers coming up toy with his cup.

"Why are you drinking my drink?" She sounds genuinely curious.

"Who says it's just yours?" He tilts his head against hers, resting it on her shoulder as she picks up the mug and takes a sip.

"Well, Henry and I are the only ones who ever get it like this."

"Maybe you're not the only ones anymore, then." He took the cup from her fingers and brought it to his own lips. "I like it."

"Why?" She's looking at him again, brow furrowed. "You don't have to just for me. It's just a thing."

He shrugs, unable to explain the feeling the beverage evokes. "It reminds me of something from a long time ago. I'm not sure what."

"Oh," she says, quietly, like she just realized that maybe he doesn't _have_ a reason, like it hadn't occurred to her that a large majority of his past has become hazy in the many years he's lived.

It hardly ever occurs to him, either, just a fact of life, of how long he's spent chasing something that proved to be so utterly disappointing in the end. He tries not to think about it too much, if he's being honest. His past is long past, and he's got enough of the present to worry about.

And currently the present is drinking his hot chocolate.

"Hey," he says, nudging her shoulder, and she peers up at him innocently over his mug. "That's mine, get your own."

The corners of her lips curve up and she sets the cup down. "Maybe I like yours."

He lets out a chuckle at that, the sparkle in her eyes catching him off guard. She always seems to have that effect on him.

"Well, then, you can have it."

_You can have everything_, he wants to add, but she already knows that.


	18. Misc One Line Prompts

These are a bunch of prompts I got on my tumblr. Since they're all rather short, I'm putting them in one chapter. Some are explicit; they're at the very bottom and there's a warning where they start.

* * *

_As the group splits up, Emma tells Killian to be careful and to protect her parents because she trusts him. (PLEASE I NEED THIS)_

"Hook," she hisses, the word quiet enough to stay between the two of them as the rest of their (separate) parties vanish into the jungle. Of course, he pauses, turning back towards her with that damned look on his face, as though he is hanging on her every single word.

"Emma," he says, equally as low. There's a question in his eyes and Emma knows they don't have time for this, for a _moment_.

"Be careful. Just…watch out for Snow and Charming, okay?"

He smiles softly, that stupid sad look that he always seems to put on. "Of course," he murmurs.

Before she can stop herself, before she can even think about it, she blurts out, "and yourself," and he freezes.

There's a long stretch where all Emma can hear is her heartbeat, pounding in her ears, beating out a drum; how close to finding Henry, going _home_, being _safe_.

Hook blinks, his eyes flickering across her face, meeting her own.

"_Emma_," he says again, voice almost cracking on the word. His mouth is open to continue and she's not sure she wants to hear what he's going to say next, but the moment is interrupted (again, always again), by Charming's voice, calling out for Hook.

One more second drags by, and then he grins, eyes crinkling.

"We'll see you soon, love," he finally says, and then turns and disappears down the path.

* * *

_"It has to be enough."_

"It's not enough; we just…we didn't know."

Emma sighs, dropping her gaze to her hands. They _tried_, she _tried_, but in the end, it doesn't seem like it's enough.

"It has to be enough," Hook's voice says from beside her, and his fingers tangle with hers. "We tried, love, and that's what counts."

From across the room, Henry frowns and stands.

"What do you mean, it's not enough?" The boy scampers over and dips his hand into the mixing bowl, pulling out one finger covered in frosting. "It'll be plenty for the gingerbread house; why are you guys being so _dramatic_?"

* * *

_"I want my life to be with you." "I don't." ;) whoops is that two sentences? [saunters away screaming "WRITE ME THE FIC!"]_

"Emma," he says, her name desperate and god she doesn't want to hear this, doesn't want to hear the words she's heard a thousand times, the I love yous and the way his eyes sparkle in the morning.

"Just _go_," she says instead, cutting him off. "I don't want _this_, Hook! I don't want to spend my life like this." She folds her arms over her chest and backs into the kitchen. "There can't be an _us_ if this is how it's going to be."

"I want my life to be with _you_," he murmurs, eyes so sincere, hand stretched out towards her like he can coax her back. Like they haven't already been here. And it breaks her heart, it does. She _loves_ him, stupid man, all his promises and declarations and _you will want me_ words proven true. But maybe she doesn't know what trust looks like anymore, because this feels like everything is falling apart, again, her heart breaking _again_, like being chained to a hospital bed and choosing to never see her own baby.

"I don't," is all she can say, simple whispered words that drive through him and force her to watch as he crumbles to dust before her very eyes, hope shattered into a million little pieces, glittering shards scattering across their floor.

* * *

_"Hook... Killian... I... please don't leave."_

He blinks, eyes sliding closed and then open again after one terrifying heartbeat. It's too slow, damn it, too lazy, and she can't help the panic that boils up inside of her.

"What?"

"Don't leave me," she repeats firmly, forcing her voice to still, to not shake the way her fingers are shaking as she tugs at the fabric of his vest, pulling it away from the wound in his side.

"Emma," he whispers her name, just like he always does. It _hurts_ her. She looks down at the red spilling out of him, staining the dirt, and she wants to _cry_. Not him. Not now. Not when _home_ is just a few steps away. Nobody was supposed to die on her watch, nobody was supposed to die _for her_.

"Don't," she says again, but the tremor in her voice is obvious, enough for him to wince, face crinkling.

"I've survived worse, love," he murmurs, fingers tangling with hers over the bloody wound.

"Yeah, yeah," she replies, tries to distract them. Snow and Charming are coming, they'll be here in a minute, Snow will know what to do, she will. "If you don't, we'll never get to that fun, right?"

He blinks again. "Fun?"

"Yeah, fun, you promised fun once we got home, don't you _dare_ disappoint me now, pirate."

A smirk tugs at his features, even as the corners of his lips twist in pain. "I would rather perish, princess," he says, hand tightening.

"That's not funny," Emma gasps, trying to hold his head steady in her free hand as tears threaten her.

"I thought it was amusing," he murmurs, the force behind his voice slipping away. His eyes flutter and this time they don't open again.

"Hook," she demands, forcefully shaking him. "Don't you _dare_."

"Let a man close his eyes for a second, love," he slurs, his hook nudging at her side. "I'll be fine," he adds, the words trailing off.

"Hook," she says again, but there is no response. She tries shaking him again, but he stays still, chest barely rising and falling. "Hook…_Killian_…I…please don't leave," she whispers, knowing that there are tears slipping down her cheeks and this isn't _fair_, he shouldn't be allowed to do this, stubborn asshole, he _can't._

"_Please_," she adds again, and curls his face up against hers, brushing their noses together. His skin is cold, so cold, and that's not right, he's not _dead_, he's _not_, his stomach is still shaking under her fingers. She doesn't want to think about what it means, though.

A voice calls her name, familiar and she registers that it must be Snow, but it sounds so far away. Another voice, this one Charming, and it's getting closer, so close.

She can't acknowledge either, instead leaning further down, just enough to brush her lips against his, a plea, a promise, _just come back_.

Feet skid next to them on the sand and she forces her back straight again, just in time to meet her father's eyes and feel her mother's hand on the back of her neck.

"You promised _fun_," she murmurs one last time to his closed eyes and slack face, and then Charming is dragging him up by his shoulders, talking about how the ship is ready, Neal's at the wheel, they're just waiting for them, they can go _now_, go home, come on Emma, grab his legs, Regina can heal him, we just have to get back to the ship.

* * *

_"Your move."_

He grins, practically splitting his face in half as he watches her puzzle out the board. For someone who had never even _heard_ of boardgames before coming to Storybrooke, he sure has taken to them quickly.

"C'mon Emma," he says, tapping his hook against the corner of the table where there's already a divot worn into the wood, a habit of his that she's tried discouraging with both positive and negative reinforcement but to no avail. He follows her gaze and smirks, no doubt recalling the _positive_ reinforcement. "Your move," he murmurs, and she _knows_ that's not the voice of a man contemplating winning Asia.

Sighing, she drops her eyes back to the board. She's got North America, South America, and is making admirable progress into Africa, but Henry's defenses are managing to hold up quite efficiently and Killian is repelling her attacks on Russia ruthlessly and she feels like maybe she needs to stop saying yes to their combined begging eyes if this is how it's gonna turn out every time.

She looks back up at Killian, those twinkling blue eyes that say he knows he's gonna win.

"Go, mom," Henry says, elbowing her.

"Yes, love, take a _risk_," Killian teases her, back to tapping his hook.

"I hate you two," Emma mutters half-heartedly, and starts to place her troops.

* * *

_"You're pregnant."_

"You're_ pregnant_."

God, Emma loves him, but sometimes he sounds so _stupid._ Like right now. His face is loose, jaw slack, eyes wide, the words almost unbelieving.

"Yes, we've been over this a_ couple_ times, Killian." He blinks, eyes fluttering rapidly as he drops his gaze down to the obvious baby bump between them.

"We're gonna have a _baby_," he says, again. For the hundredth time.

"Again, yes, Killian. We are." She resists the urge to roll her eyes, knowing his disbelief is just another part of him. It's been months and he still can't seem to wrap his head around the fact that all that trying had panned out, that they're gonna have a baby, that all this is real. It's sort of sweet, honestly, the way he nuzzles at her stomach and curls up around her at night, fingers always pressing against her skin, as though he can touch their child already.

"I love you," he says finally, and this is one thing Emma doesn't really mind hearing over and over again.

* * *

_here's one: "Do you smell that?" ;)_

"Do you smell that?" Emma wrinkles her nose, looking up and down the street, trying to pinpoint it. It smells like…well, it smells like…body spray.

And not cologne, no, that kitschy stuff they sell at dime stores, four steps below Axe and thirty-five beneath Old Spice. Bottom of the barrel. It's been following her around all day, catching a whiff here and there and it's driving her _nuts_. It's been even worse since she got in the car with Killian. Maybe Henry left something in the back seat; it certainly seemed like the kind of thing Neal would get for their son.

Beside her, Killian stiffens and shakes his head. "I don't smell anything, love." He folds his hand in his lap and looks out the window, making Emma frown. She _knows_ she smells it. It's strong enough; he should smell it too.

Maybe he's just not used to the smells of this world. That must be it.

"I guess it must be something of Henry's," she finally says, turning back around in her seat after giving the backseat a once-over. "I'll have to talk to him about it later. That stuff is _not_ nice to smell at all. And certainly not attractive. No girl in her right mind would go out with a guy who smells like he took a bath in it."

Killian chokes and sits straighter.

"Right," he manages to say, and Emma looks at him quizzically.

"You sure you don't smell it?"

He shakes his head again, vigorously this time, and she sighs.

"Right, well, let's just get across town and get out of the car before I choke to death."

Another aborted sound comes from his side of the car, and she shakes her head.

She'll never get over how strange he is sometimes.

* * *

_*inspired slightly by your last request thinger* "Ugh, this stupid cast itches"_

"Ugh, this stupid cast itches," is the first thing she hears, and, god forgive her, she tells him to suck it up and maybe next time he'll be more careful.

It's not until silverware is missing and she can't find a single pen in the apartment that she confronts him about it.

She can tell he's trying to grin, but it looks more like a grimace as he itches at the skin and tries to shove his fingers down the cast.

(When Whale shows her the pictures of the inside of the cast she doesn't know if she should be amused or disgusted.)

* * *

_Ah, ok! "Emma, love, just hold on."_

"You'll be fine," he says, the same confidence he always carries when he talks to her fluttering under the strain of the lie. Emma can see it, even with everything slipping away she can still see it. See right through him.

"Bad liar," she manages to get out, blood rattling in her chest, and _god_ it _hurts _so badly.

"Emma, love, just hold on."

But she _can't_, there's nothing to hold onto and all she can think about is Henry, safe, finally, but she'll lose him again, he'll lose her, oh, god, what will it do to him, _no_.

"_Henry_," she says, and Hook's face breaks, the half-grin he'd been trying to hold cracking apart at the seams.

"He's safe, Emma, he's fine, you'll see him soon," he repeats, like it's stuck in his mouth, words coming over and over again.

She closes her eyes because it hurts. She can't feel her legs any more, nothing below the massive gash across her stomach and chest. But his words, the thought of her _son_, it's too much. She whimpers his name again, and Hook's hand digs into hers, covered in her blood but he doesn't seem to care.

"Emma, love, you're going to be _fine_," he says, and it's the last thing she hears. She wishes maybe she'd kissed him again, maybe done more, after all, life's short, right, so short, oh, god, _Henry_.

* * *

_"It should have been me."_

"It should have been me," Neal says from beside her, eyes wide as she twists her arm, examining the cut across her upper arm, the red blood that spills down her skin.

"It's fine," she insists, "It's just a scratch, and you were busy not being de-shadowed." He looks crestfallen, like a kicked puppy, and yes, Henry did get that from his father. But she can't bring herself to care, because it stings and she needs to get it cleaned and covered now before they make their next move.

Still examining the cut, she wordlessly extends a hand to where she knows Hook is hovering over her. The sold firm weight of his flask settles in her hand and she draws it back, tugging the cork free with her teeth before tipping it up over the cut. She hisses and tilts her head up, blinking hard as it stings and burns. He'll be pissed that she used up the rest of his rum on this, _a bloody waste of it_, but he can suck it up.

Both of them are watching her closely, Neal crouching by her side, Hook slowly easing himself to his knees on her other side, and wow, she must be delirious or something because that says something about their personalities but she can't seem to figure out _what._

The burning eases, and she holds her hand out towards Hook again, knowing he won't leave her hanging. And, sure enough, there's soft fabric sliding against her palm, his fingers brushing hers as she takes it. This time, she meets his gaze, accepts the concern there and nods a quick thank you. He smiles, soft and quick, and it's a moment. Another in a long line of _moments_ that Emma would really rather not think about right now.

As efficiently as possible with one hand, she wraps the scarf around her arm and pulls it tight, twisting the ends together until they form a knot. Neal reaches out to help her, his fingers almost touching her skin before she shoots him a glare and he retreats meekly. Taking a deep breath, she catches one end in her teeth and pulls, purposefully avoiding Hook's gaze. She can feel his eyes boring into her as she tightens the knot down and loops it around her arm again, repeating the process to tighten it again before looping the ends back into the band she'd created.

The whole affair has been remarkably quiet, aside from her heavy breathing and their own worried rhythmic breaths, and yes, she can tell they're both worried, but that doesn't erase the fact that if they hadn't been squabbling like children she wouldn't even be in this situation.

"There, I fixed it myself" she finally says, giving each of them a pointed look as she picks up the empty flask from where she'd dropped it between her legs. Hook had thankfully known better than to try to retrieve it himself. She hands it back, wishing she could avoid his penetrating gaze but she can't; he pins her to the ground with it, too many things for her to process, and his words from earlier ring in her ears. The whens and you wills and she wants to snap at him that his chances are significantly lower after that bullshit, but she doesn't. He's apologetic and no, she doesn't miss the hint of longing in his eyes, the twist of his lips and the way she's sure he's holding back some comment that will make her want to hit him.

"Sorry," Neal offers, and she grimaces, finally looking away from Hook.

"I'm fine. I hope you both learned a goddamn lesson though."

"Yeah," Neal says, nodding his head and flickering his eyes across her to Hook. She doesn't miss the irony of their seating arrangement, one on each side, hovering, waiting.

(She doesn't miss that Hook is at her right hand, either, like he has been for the whole damn trip.)

"Aye," he finally says, softly, and she knows once more he's watching her, eyes firmly fixed where hers would be if she were looking at him.

"Good," she replies, and rises, brushing off her clothes. "Let's go find my son."

* * *

**_SMUT STARTS HERE_**

_How about ... "You're just making it harder for yourself" ?_

"_Oh_," he murmurs, his voice soft like velvet, hard and soft and rough in all the right places. His fingers skate down her side, burning hot or maybe that's just her. She twists her wrists in the ropes that bind them, feeling the burn on her skin. It's like when he spends hours between her thighs and they come away red and rubbed raw in a delicious way. The cool metal of his hook brushes the top of her thigh, and she flinches, tightening her fingers into fists before throwing them open again as he shifts above her.

He's still wearing clothes, leather pants creaking with every movement as he drags his fingers all over her skin, caressing her breasts one minute and then thumbing at her lips the next. His lips are red from when she bit at them, and there's a purple mark on his neck she left when he was trying to tie her up.

Twisting her hands again, she growls at him, teeth bared, because he's touching her hips and he's a goddamn tease because it's been _hours_ she's sure of it and he still hasn't _done_ anything.

"Don't do that sweetheart," he murmurs, leaning down so he can kiss her chin and nose. "It's not very ladylike."

"Well," she pants through closed teeth, "I'm not feeling very much like a lady right now."

"Really?" He smirks down at her and shifts his knee between her legs, rubbing it against her core slowly. The sensations flood her and it's like she's losing herself, back arcing up off the bed, hips furiously working against him, chasing any possible friction.

She groans when he pulls away, eyes fluttering as she does her best to nail him with a dirty look. It's hard, though, when her eyes flutter downwards and she sees the slickness on the leather of his pants, more than enough evidence of just how long he's kept her like this.

"Looks like you're a lady to me," he whispers, digging his fingers into her hair so he can tug her hair back. His lips press against her neck, teeth nipping and biting as she shifts under him. She bucks her hips up, desperate to rub against him, not even caring at this point how she must look, flushed and wanton and so _hungry_ for him.

"Stop," he growls, flattening his hand and hook on her hips to press them back into the bed, forcing her still. "You're just making it harder for yourself."

"And, and, _oh_," Emma whimpers because his lips were suddenly on hers, sucking the air out of her and dragging her under. She whines and writhes, trying to move, to do _something_. Abruptly breaking the kiss, he pulls away from her completely, leaning back on his heels.

"What do you _want_ from me," she gasps, trying to catch her breath even though it's futile.

"_Everything_," is all he says, and he looks like he could eat her alive with just a look, just a touch.

"Then _take_ it," she hisses, because that's all she wants, that's all she ever wanted when she agreed to his games that seem so much less silly now than they did when he suggested them.

He grins then, wide and feral and dark and if only she'd known the magic words before now, she thinks as his fingers tighten on her thigh and he licks his lips, eyes drifting down her body before they settle between her legs.

* * *

_"Stop thinking."_

The sun is bright, spilling through the windows and giving Emma her first true look about the captain's quarters. She takes it in silently, content to wait for her warm and breathing pillow to awake.

It's not regret that cramps up her chest, no, she knew exactly what she was doing when she slid her fingers under his jacket and _pushed_. None of the events in Emma's live have happened at "the right time", except maybe breaking the curse, but she can't think about that for very long before the weight of destiny makes a mess of her chest cavity. This, however, feels like the right time.

And _god_, it had been _right_. Part of her hadn't been sure what to expect, honestly. Charming pirate, devoted lover, Captain-fucking-Hook, all of it at once? But no, it had been different. He was different. Cocky, of course. He could hardly be anything else.

It shouldn't have come as such a surprise, the way he kissed the hollow of her throat and spread his hand over as much of her skin as he could touch. She wasn't stupid, knew he had probably been wanting her in his bed since before they crawled up that beanstalk, but he didn't rush, didn't try to coerce her into an early-but-satisfying orgasm.

No, he'd taken his time. Told her that actions spoke louder than words as he leaned his cheek against her thigh and curled his fingers inside of her. Said she was beautiful and he _loved_ her and yeah, she's never going to be used to those words coming from him, no matter how many times he stands in the sunlight and says them or kisses each letter into the back of her knees.

She lets her thoughts drift, mind humming over the night before. It felt _good_ and _right_ and that's almost terrifying, something she's never really felt before with a man. Not like this. Still, no regrets, she considers as she shifts her hips and sighs against his chest.

He takes one last breath, and then she knows the instant he's aware, because he tenses under her, not much, but enough to recognize when you're pressed so close together.

"Emma?" he asks softly, hopefully, like he is waking up from a dream and he's not sure which parts are real.

Deciding maybe now isn't the time for heart-bearing and grand realizations, she shifts herself up onto her elbow, leaning over him enough to press their chests together.

She hums and leans down, gently pressing her lips to the spot where his neck meets his shoulder.

His eyes flutter and he exhales a sigh, a deep breath that she feels in her own chest. "Emma," he says again, this time even softer, and brings his hand up to her head, tilting it up enough so he can kiss her.

He kisses her like he could never get enough of her.

When she shifts so she can properly kiss him, her name continues to spill from his lips, over and over and it twists in her stomach. Emma. Not a princess, not a savior. Emma. The woman in bed with Captain Hook. Killian Jones. _Him_.

"Hey," she says, shifting up and slinging one leg over his hips, pressing their bodies together when she leans back down. "Stop thinking. That gorgeous girl you've been trying to win the heart of for so long? She's naked. In your bed. On top of you."

His eyes clear and he smiles, smudging the edges when it turns into a chuckle, vibrating through his chest and into hers, into her mouth when she kisses him again.

Maybe she can't get enough of him. It's not like there's anyone to tell anyway.

"I suppose she is," he murmurs softly, sweeping his hand across her back to cup her head. "She really is."

They don't leave the bed for the rest of the morning. Well. She did say it was good.

(When finally, just after noon, her stomach growls, she goes looking for her clothes and maybe they make love one last time because he can't see Emma Swan, bathed in sunlight in all her glory, and not feel his skin itch for hers.)


	19. smut prompt fic - cabin in the woods

**NC-17** - Emma and Killian become stranded in the woods during a thunderstorm and find refuge in an isolated cabin nearby. How you make it smutty, is obviously up to you.

* * *

He gasps into her skin, groaning quietly as she wraps her legs around his hips. Quickly, desperately, he tucks his head into the curve of her neck and kisses as much of her as he can reach. She throws her head back and squirms between him and the wall, making him growl and press her harder into the wall, forcing their bodies together deliciously.

The thunder cracks outside, punctuated by her whine when he rocks his hips hard against hers. Too many clothes, even without their jackets, he thinks frantically, too many layers from the coolness outside, but it's warm now, so warm with her body pressed against his front and the fire they'd lit crackling at his back.

Wrapping his arms under her ass (and what a glorious ass it is, he knows), he picks her up and pulls them both away from the wall, lips never leaving her skin as he staggers into the bed and falls upon her. She groans and bucks her hips against his, circling them frantically and they really need to get out of these clothes _right now_.

He knows his hand is cold and his hook is undoubtedly colder, but he can't resist sliding both under her clothes, dragging up her stomach and across her chest until she leans forward and he has to break away from her to pull both layers over her head in one movement. She shivers slightly as he slips down her body, yanking her pants open and down her hips in as smooth a move as he can manage.

Nearly naked then, he urges her further up on the bed, far enough for him to throw back the heavy blanket and slide her under it. She grins at him, the blankets tucked under her chin as she looks him up and down. He chuckles and she laughs, but he wastes no time stripping off his vest and shirt, kicking off his boots and pants before joining her in the warm cocoon. Outside, the rain continues, coming down hard and fast against the roof of this little cabin.

"You look ravishing," he murmurs, drawing her closer so he can pick up where he left off, warming her body with kisses and touches.

"You can't even see me," she replies, eyes crinkling when he kisses her and slides over her body, fingers tracing down her side to wrap around her thigh.

He winks down at her and kisses her cheek. "But I can _feel_ you."

They both moan when she hooks her leg over his hip and draws them together, the thin fabric of her underwear the only thing keeping them apart.

He thinks fondly of the time she hadn't even let them take them off, shoving them aside just enough to sink back against his cock, hair falling over her shoulders and back as she rocked back against him, fucking herself on him, knees spread, ass pressing back against him so invitingly.

Yes, he remembers that evening _very_ fondly.

Determined to remember this evening just as well, he grins and nips at her lips before sliding down her body and under the blankets. She gasps and bucks her hips when his lips fall over her hip. Everything is muffled by the thick covers, but he hears her breath pick up and feels her thighs twitch when he settles between them, mouthing at her hot cunt over her underwear.

Flicking it aside with his tongue, he flicks his tongue against her, brushing against her folds quickly before he snags her underwear with his teeth and starts pulling them down her legs. She bends her knees and shifts her hips, kicking them off her ankles when he starts to move back up against her.

Her skin is so soft, so beautiful, even(especially?) where the goosebumps form from the cool steel of his hook. He slides out of the covers, just enough to detach the curved attachment and toss it aside, ignoring the clatter it makes as it hits the floor in favor of kissing her again. He drags his hand across her side, her stomach, her chest, growling when he brushes against the material of her bra instead of bare skin.

She laughs softly and leans forward, pressing them together as she fumbles with the clasp behind her. He would offer to help, but he's seen her do this a million times, knows she can do it better than he can, even drunk, even when his face is buried between her thighs.

In her haste, she nearly rips it off her shoulders, tossing it the same direction he'd thrown his hook before she arcs up against him, pressing their chest together as she kisses him fiercely.

He could certainly drown in her kisses, get lost in her sea. She grips is head, one hand tangling in his hair as the other cups his cheek, holding him against her as she ruts their bodies together, hips rocking rhythmically. One leg tangles with his, forcing their lower bodies together, not that he's opposed to it, groaning into her mouth when her slick heat presses against him, sliding against his cock.

"Emma," he whispers into her lips before lowering his head again, catching a breast in his mouth, massaging the other with his free hand.

She cries out, high and wonderful. Her hips buck against his, hard and fast like they should be fucking already.

They really should be.

Reluctantly pulling his hand down her body, he slips his fingers against her clit, rubbing and spreading the wetness over her skin. Her eyes flutter and close, body shifting quietly under him.

He wants to take more time with her, spread her open with his fingers, make her come in time with the crack of the thunder outside. But she is digging her fingers into his arms, voice shaking beautifully as she whines out his name.

"Fuck me, fuck me," she says, whispering in his ear, and who is he to refuse this woman?

Holding her hip steady with his brace, he lines himself up, rocking his cock into her cunt until he's just barely inside of her. She mumbles his name again and he eases forward, slowly sinking into her.

He knows it's freezing, cold and wet and ugly outside, but she is hot and beautiful and so wonderful feeling, he can't care. Alone in this bed with her, he could die a happy man.

"_Killian_," she cries out, urging him forward until he's as deep into her as he can possibly, bodies pressed impossibly tight together. They breath as one, in and out, heavy heaving breaths because neither can get enough.

Gently, he shifts his hips, slipping out of her before he corrects and picks up a rhythm, his hand on her hip, barely bracing himself on his other arm as she kisses him, tangling her body into his until he can't tell where he ends and she begins.

They make love in that bed all night long, the steady rain outside a comforting backdrop.


	20. smut prompt fic - hook goes down on emma

**NC-17** - killian goes down on emma in neverland, the others are sleeping nearby so they have to be quiet

* * *

It's _bad_ idea, she knows. They're huddled on the opposite side of his lean-to, concealed from the rest of the campsite, but only just. Her pants and underwear are in a nice pile beside her, the only _neat_ thing happening right now.

Hook's head is buried between her open thighs, dark hair sticking up in tufts as he spreads her open on his tongue, rolling it over and over against her clit and cunt. He's good at this, on his knees bent over her. Especially when he does that, growling softly as he slips his tongue inside of her, thrusting like it's his fingers, or, worse, his cock.

She shifts slightly, the sensations delicious and utter torture at the same time. They really don't have time for this, but he's _good_. Wrapping his arms up over her hips, he drags her back down against his face and nuzzles against her, soft little noises slipping away from him, but she can't tell what he's saying.

Abruptly, she feels him nip at her clit and suck it into his mouth, furiously laving his tongue at it. She moans, hips bucking against his firm grip as she scrabbles for a handhold in his hair. He chuckles instead of stopping, thank god, and returns to his task with vigor. Oh, god. A small sound escapes her lips, something more akin to a breathy squeak than anything else as he circles her clit, ever increasing pressure that drives her _crazy_, and he knows it.

"Hook," she whispers, twisting her fingers in her hair. "Captain fucking _Hook_," she says, and he growls hard, wrenching her hips down on himself even harder. His fingers dig into her skin, nails pressing sharply against her thigh. He practically attacks her, then, fucking her as deep as he can with his tongue again before scraping his teeth against her clit, and fuck, there goes _that_, Emma thinks as she comes, quiet as a church mouse and breathing hard.

He always does a number on her, leaving her body feeling lazy and her mind happily light. It doesn't last long, but while it does it feels _amazing_.

Her happy place is interrupted by a sharp spike of pain against the inside of her thigh, surprising enough to force a cry out of her lips. Thankfully, it isn't loud enough to wake the others, but _fuck_. She looks down to find him smirking at her, at least with his eyes; his lips are locked against her skin, sucking and nipping a huge mark into her skin.

"_Hook_," she hisses, twisting her fingers in his hair in an attempt to drag him away from her, but he refuses, pulling away just long enough to lick over the darkened skin and admire his handiwork. Just from her angle, she can see the teeth marks and she wants to slap him, probably.

He grins, finally, and meets her gaze.

"It's not like anyone else will see it, love," he murmurs, voice whiskey rough and dangerous and everything she's always loved about the bad boys. "It's the only price I'll ask," he adds.

"Yeah, because this is _such_ a _torture_ for you," she hisses back, glancing pointedly at his crotch, knowing he's probably rock hard inside of his pants.

"Not being inside of _you_ is the _torture_, sweetheart, and you know it," he growls, a new edge to his words.

He would never hurt her, would never even _dream_ of taking this any further than she's sanctioned, but still the implication is there. If she did anything but push him away like she always does, he would fuck her thoroughly here in the dirt of Neverland, and it would be everything she craves but nothing she needs.

And that's why she slides her fingers from his hair and down his neck, pressing against his shoulders as she sits up. He falls back, hand and hook pressing against his thighs as she scoots away and wriggles back into her jeans.

"One day, Emma," he murmurs, a promise that she deftly avoids by buttoning her pants and standing.

He doesn't move, doesn't rise from his position, just tilts his head up at her.

"One day," he vows.

She doesn't acknowledge him more than a quick blink before she turns away, leaving him there on his knees in the dirt.

_One day_, a voice whispers in her head, and she can't tell if it's his or hers.


	21. you are not at war

**you are not at war**

_This isn't what I expected._

**NC-17**. Post-Neverland feels and blowjobs and choices, not in that order.

* * *

"This isn't what I expected," he says, words a husky murmur punctuated by a sharp inhale as she strips his belt out of its loops and tosses it aside.

"What _were_ you expecting?" Emma asks, looping an arm around his neck to draw him back to her, pulling him bodily the rest of the way into the room. She latches her lips against the underside of his jaw, kissing and sucking at the skin until his scruff burns at her lips and she just doesn't care. Her hands are busy at work on his pants, and he groans when she finally gets them open and shoves them down his hips, the sound vibrating under her lips.

"Not _this_, for sure," he says and tries to grasp at her arm, to take back control, but she smoothly backs him up until he pushes the door shut and the latch clicks quietly. Giving him no chance to protest, she drops to her knees and mouths at his cock before slipping it past her lips.

He chokes on air and slams his head back, the action spiking pain across the back of his skull but he can't hardly feel it when he looks down and sees _Emma Swan_ bobbing her head up and down on his cock, sucking and flicking her tongue against the underside of him.

If he said he's never imagined this, he'd be lying, because it's hard to not imagine, even from the start(especially at the start, after the beanstalk, seeing her on her knees, apologizing in the best way). But this is far from anything he could have imagined. Her lips, red and kiss-bitten bright, wrapped around him so deliciously, the way she works him over like she knows exactly how to play him.

Her lips curl around him and she pulls back a little bit, licking at his tip like it's some delicious treat and that's entirely unfair. He gasps and tries to still his hips to keep from chasing that delicious mouth down, from being anything but a gentleman. Instead he moves to cup the back of her head, twirling her hair between his fingers. She flickers her eyes up to his and he feels just the barest edge of teeth as she pushes herself down on him again, jaw opening sinfully wide. He groans, tipping his head back, unsure if he'll be able to last long at all watching her move. It's bad enough that he can _feel_ her, warm and wet and moving over him again and again, soft wet sounds slipping into the room.

"Emma," he moans, clutching at her head, and she growls, the sound rumbling around his cock and _gods_. He doesn't mean to draw her further down on him, but he sinks even further into her mouth, easy and slick. She swallows and he nearly topples over, supported only by the door as the pure pleasure washes over him. Before he's even aware of it he's close, so close, and he tries to tug her off of him.

"Love, Emma, _fuck_, Emma," he stutters, whines out, trying to get her attention, to pull her off of him. Either she doesn't understand or she doesn't care because her teeth brush him again as she pulls away and then presses down on him again, swallowing again and working her tongue over him.

He tries to say her name one last time, to warn her was he starts to come. She…doesn't stop. She doesn't even move to pull back, instead bobbing and sucking him even as he comes in her mouth, leaking out of the corners of her mouth as she looks up at him, eyes fluttering.

Her eyes close and her lips tip up as she slowly pulls off of him, swallowing hard before licking lightly at the head of his cock one last time. Bracing her hands back on his hips, she slowly stands back up.

"Thank you," she murmurs, kissing his collarbone and then neck, pressing their bodies together.

"I think that's my line," he replies shakily and feels her smile on his skin before she pulls away, eyes sincere and dark.

"For everything. I mean it."

"I didn't do it for your _thanks_, love. Though if this is how you see fit to thank me, you'll notice I'm not objecting. But," he says, drawing up his hand to wipe away the wet line down her chin, his come and her saliva from where it had spilled out, "I think I'd like a little more, as wonderful as your lips and mouth are." He leans forward and kisses her, softly, a brush of lips as he wraps his left arm around her waist and pulls her close.

She smirks at him. "I think you might need a little while before any of that, buddy."

"I don't mean sex, Emma, and you know it."

He doesn't miss the way she stiffens slightly, her gaze shifting to his shoulder.

"Hook…" she trails off, and he feels his heart sink.

"Emma," he whispers, drawing her chin back up, forcing her eyes to his. "You know what I'm after, what I want. _All_ of you. And I'll have it, but _when you're ready_."

"Geez, don't sugarcoat it," she mutters, barely meeting his gaze.

He says her name again, leans in to kiss her again, this one significantly less chaste than the last. She makes a small sound and wraps her fingers around the back of his neck, holding him close. Her lips part under his as she tightens one fist in his shirt. She tries to make it fast, messy, passionate, he knows, recognizes the urgency to turn it into just _this_, bodies crushed together. Instead of letting her, he slows down, exploring her now that he finally has a chance. She tastes like him, different from before, but no less intoxicating. He curves his hand across her cheek and neck, thumb brushing softly against her skin.

It's torture to be the one pulling away, but he will have this again. One day he'll be able to kiss her without needing to worry if she'll run away again. He slowly disentangles them, pressing his forehead against hers like that day not so long ago. Her eyes flutter, just as they did then, and he brushes their noses together, feeling the way she trembles under his fingers.

"You don't have to thank me for anything. You never did. Everything I am, it's already yours."

She makes a small whining sound and opens her mouth, probably to say his name, and he knows he's probably pushing her too hard, too far too fast. But now that he's started, he can't stop.

"I won't make you decide," he murmurs, "but you _will_, and I'll be there. I'll always be there." He tilts her head up, trying to make her understand. "I don't need your thank yous. I don't want_ them_."

She doesn't say anything for a very long time, but she doesn't move to pull away from him.

"Trusting someone with your life is a lot easier than trusting them with your _heart_, you know," she finally whispers, the words thin and almost impossible to hear, even in the absolute quiet between them.

"Well, you trust me with one of those, so there's an improvement already," he replies, brushing his thumb across her cheek when she laughs. "Give it time, love. I can wait; it's not exactly something I'm unfamiliar with."

"What if I don't want to wait?"

Her simple softly-spoken words surprise him, and he blinks, trying to decipher her gaze, the meaning hidden there.

"Emma," he begins, but she shushes him.

"What if I _don't_ trust _anyone_ with myself…but what if I _could_? Why do we have to wait for _one day_?"

He's not sure if she's saying what he thinks she's saying, or if this is just what he wants to hear, _all_ he wants to hear from her. She smiles, small and maybe a little broken, but all he can see is the way it crinkles her face, spreads to her eyes, makes her eyelids flutter.

"I'm not choosing you," she says, and it draw his attention back because he's at a loss, he's _lost_ around her. He wants what she wants, whatever that is. "It was never about choosing either of you." He isn't sure if this is going to be followed by another firm reminder that her son is and always will be her only choice, but he keeps his mouth shut and waits for her to finish.

"I'm choosing _me_. I'm choosing what _I_ want, what's best for _me_. And it has _nothing_ to do with you or Neal." She tightens her grip around the back of his neck, pulling him down for a quick kiss. "And what I want? Right now? I want some stupidly selfless pirate to carry me over to my bed and show me exactly what he means by _fun_. And then maybe he can _stay_, and be there when I wake up in the morning, and the morning after that, and the one after that."

She tips her head forward, noses brushing, and meets his gaze. "What do you think about that?"

He wants to kiss her, tell her he loves her(because he does, oh, gods,he _does_), tell her he knew it would come to this, to take a moment because this is happening. He knew when she drug him up the stairs to her bedroom, pushed the door open, that it would end in her bed, but he _never_ imagined any of this, never expected it in the slightest.

"Well?" she questions him, a sliver of doubt creeping into her words, and no, that just won't do.

Taking advantage of the way she is clinging to him, he presses forward and kisses her hard, pouring all the things he's tried to tell her into it. All the passion, all the love he can't tell her about right now, can't spook her with, three hundred years of hatred and anger for this moment and he can't tell her that. Not yet. But he can show her.

He leans forward just enough for her to take a step back, and then he sweeps down, hooking one arm under her legs and the other around her back so he can pick her up. She squeals, actually _squeals_, and it sounds so foreign coming from her he can't help but laugh. A glare crosses her face, but he's starting to recognize the affectionate tint under it.

"I didn't mean _literally_, buddy," she says, tightening her arms around his neck.

Shrugging, he closes the distance to her bed and gently lays her down.

"Well, I do," he whispers, and she smiles again, eyes sad but growing brighter.

They're both smiling when he kisses her again, clutching and rolling into the bed, stripping off clothes until she's bare under him, so beautiful and amazing and he already feels the stirring in his bones, telling him he will never have enough of this, of her.

Really, it's just a reminder, because he's known since she abandoned him that having Emma Swan will _never_ be just enough, will always be too much, more and more and the very best way to drown.

When he finally sinks into her, her long legs pressing tight against his sides, he doesn't know _what_ to think, except maybe that she is like a dream. _His_ dream.

She doesn't say his name, not yet, but that's okay. She still calls out for him when she comes, turning his curse into something beautiful, something only she can do.

And finally, finally, after she is boneless and satisfied and he can't feel his toes anymore for the happiness running through him, she pulls him bodily under the covers and presses her head over his chest.

The sun rises and for the first time in many years, he doesn't rise with it, doesn't escape out the door, because there's nothing to escape from.

He counts it as a victory when she doesn't seem surprised to see him still there.


	22. so it goes

**so it goes**

**PG**. kissing and smooching and making out and stuff bring a toothbrush for the cavities ok. (Listening to Ingrid Michaelson's cover of Can't Help Falling In Love is a totally good idea I promise.)

* * *

Day forty-six is when Emma finally starts to realize that it's not some new relationship thing that's gonna just go away.

They're eating at the diner; lunch, a routine now that she never truly expected to have. He waltzes in, all confidence and swagger and tips his head down as he slides into the booth across from her, pressing his lips against hers gently in greeting.

"Hey," he says softly, and goddamn her she's got a stone heart but that melts it a tiny bit.

"Hey yourself," she murmurs, and then because she's starting to think about all the times he kisses her, she adds, "what was that for?"

His eyes flicker up from the menu and he grins, humming quietly. "I have no idea what you're talking about love."

Rolling her eyes, she reaches across for his menu, stealing it from his fingers. He doesn't seem to mind too much, smile twitching on his face as he drops his eyes to her lips and then flickers them back up to hers.

"Playing dumb doesn't work with me," she says, and he grins wider, shows teeth and she smiles in response, instinctively. It's sad how well it works on her, now that she lets it.

He shrugs, rolling his shoulders back. "Is it a crime to kiss you hello?" Looking back at her lips, he smirks. "Here I thought you liked me kissing you…"

"We're in public," she asserts, but he just keeps smirking and doesn't take his eyes off of her when Ruby arrives to take their orders.

* * *

It's two in the morning and his hand is firm on her hip when he shoves her back against the side of her bug and kisses her senseless, trapping her body with his until she can't breathe, can't feel anything but _him_ in the air.

* * *

"Don't," she says, "I'm working."

He pouts and folds his hands on the desk across from her, crouching until his chin is pressed against them and those baby blues are in full force.

For a dreaded pirate captain, he's remarkably good at the puppy eyes.

Still, she is resolute, firm. Unyielding.

He blinks and his eyes widen, if that's even possible. He looks like the stupid cat from Shrek, all adorable and begging.

"Fine, but just a peck and then you have to leave."

She knows he isn't listening because before she's even finished speaking he's lunging forward, drawing his hand across the back of her head as he kisses her.

It's not a peck, and she's breathing hard when he pulls away, his hand still pressed against the side of her face

"I'll see you later, Sheriff," he whispers in a husky murmur and brushes his thumb across her cheek. He vanishes in a blink and she considers cursing the spot he was standing but it wouldn't even make her feel better, because despite herself she feels a smile on her face.

She resists the urge to reach up and touch it, knowing that would be childish and silly and what if she touches it and it goes away.

(Emma has never, ever, not ever hummed happily. And she _certainly_ isn't starting now.)

* * *

She's barely inside the door, coat half off of her shoulders when he's on her, slamming the door shut when he presses her into it. His mouth is hot on hers, biting and sucking and _god_ a girl could get used to being welcomed home like this. He moans into her mouth and wraps both arms around her waist, pressing closer until their chests are in tandem, breathing in and out. Before she knows it she's walking him forward and he doesn't seem to mind, content to just hold her and kiss her, his lips playing over hers over and over again. She maneuvers them until his knees hit the couch and she pushes him down, sliding into his lap as he looks up at her like she's the most amazing thing he's ever seen.

He groans when she leans back in and kisses him, and his hand drifts around the back of her neck, hot and heavy and delightful.

They're grown adults but she love this, making out on the couch, loves it because she's never had it before. He gives her this, the simple experiences. Kissing against walls and doors and in public when they shouldn't and quick pecks in front of her parents because he _does_ value his life.

His hand is everywhere, first on top of her clothes and then under them, but he seems content to merely touch and kiss her, his eyes closed tight as he echoes her sounds and swallows down every little noise.

The best part, though, is knowing that her parents _can't_ walk in at any minute. That she could do anything she wanted with her pirate on this couch.

She grins against his mouth and rocks her hips down, just to feel him squirm.

* * *

It's the first thing she feels when she wakes up, his lips pressing into her back and then her neck, fingers brushing aside her hair so he can kiss a delightful line over her shoulder. He catches her smiling and tilts her chin up towards him enough to brush their lips together, noses brushing teasingly.

"Morning," he murmurs and kisses her again, and again, like he can't get enough.

He doesn't stop, never stops.

* * *

"Hey beautiful," he says, leaning towards her ear as the sit in the town hall, listening to Regina's speech. She's sitting on the front row, and why she even allowed him here is beyond her because right now his hand is wrapped around her own tightly and his lips are inches from her ear.

"I will elbow you in your ribs," she hisses, but he merely huffs in amusement, the breath hot against her skin.

"Don't be like that, love," he murmurs, tipping his head down until he's hovering over her neck.

Regina shoots them a look, and Emma tries to convey just how fed up with the situation she is as well using just her eyes.

"You're not going to kiss me, Killian," she hisses. "We're in _public_."

He sighs heavily, like this situation pains him greatly, and that's not fair, he kissed her before they left the apartment and again in the alley outside before they'd rounded the corner facing the rest of the town.

"As you wish," he grumbles, finally sitting back in his seat.

Emma looks up at the podium and smiles, small, and to herself.


End file.
